Collecting Art in the Italian Renaissance Court: Objects and Exchanges 1108427723, 9781108427722

Table of contents :
Cover
Half-title
Title page
Copyright information
Table of contents
List of illustrations
List of colour plates
Acknowledgements
Introduction: Mobile Objects and Sociable Exchanges in the Renaissance Court
Object Knowledge, Collecting, and Court Culture in the Quattrocento
Diplomacy, Politics, and Historical Paradigms
One Carafa’s testa di cavallo: The Life of a Bronze Gifthorse
Introduction
Lorenzo de’ Medici and Diomede Carafa: Arbitrators between Florence and Naples
The Literary Life of a Horse’s Head
Later Histories of the Horse’s Head
The Significance of the Equine: Horseracing and Gifthorses
The Horse’s Head and the Culture of Collecting
The Agency of the Thing Given: Conclusion
Two Practices of Exchange: Merchant Bankers and the Circulation of Objects
Introduction
Florentine and Neapolitan Networks: Merchants, Clients, and the Courts
Florentine Merchant Bankers in Naples
The Strozzi
The Medici and Their Associates
The Gondi
Clients and Consumers: The Neapolitan Court and Nobility
Lettucci, Gems, Jewels, and Books: The Circulation of Goods
The Florentine Lettuccio in Naples
Gems and Jewels: Circulation, Replication, and Transmission
The Practices of Pawning: Objects, Contenders, and Currency
Fraught Relations: The Bejewelled Cross
Between Commodity and Sémiophore: Conclusion
Three Intertextuality and Collection at the Court of Ferrara: Roberti’s Diptych
Introduction
The Painting and Scriptura Debate: Paragone, Social Positioning, and the Status of Art in Ferrara
The Studiolo and Eleonora d’Aragona’s Collections
Folding Images: Engaging with the Diptych Form
Word and Flesh: Caterina Vegri and the Corpo di Christo
Fabula and Forms of Assembly: Paragone and the Intertext
Citation, Imitation, and the Spaces of Collection
Other Forms of Citation in Eleonora d’Aragona’s Collections
Collection as Assembly: Conclusion
Fast Forward 500+ Years: Landy’s Saints Alive
Four The Order of the Ermine: Collars, Cloaks, and the Circulation of The Sign
Introduction
The Aragonese Orders of the Jar and the Ermine
The Statutes of the Order of the Ermine
Members and International Association
Representations of the Ermine: The Circulation of the Sign
Ceremonial: Mantles, Collars, and Bodily Inscription
Allegorical Representations of the Order of the Ermine: Ercole de’ Roberti’s Famous Women
The Obligation of the Sign: Conclusion
Conclusion: Towards A New Understanding of Objects at Court
Appendix: Eleonora d’Aragona’s Inventories
Notes
Introduction
1 Carafa’s testa di cavallo
2 Practices of Exchange
3 Intertextuality and Collection at the Court of Ferrara
4 The Order of the Ermine
Conclusion
Primary Archival Sources
Archives Consulted and Abbreviations
Bibliography
Index
Plates

Citation preview

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COLLECTING ART IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE COURT

In this book, Leah R. Clark examines collecting practices across the Italian Renaissance courts, exploring the circulation, exchange, collection, and display of objects. Rather than focusing on patronage strategies or the political power of individual collectors, she uses the objects themselves to elucidate the dynamic relationships formed through their exchange. Her study brings forward the mechanisms that structured relations within the court, and most importantly, also with individuals, representations, and spaces outside the court. The book examines the courts of Italy through the wide variety of objects  –​statues, paintings, jewellery, furniture, and heraldry  –​ that were valued for their subject matter, material forms, histories, and social functions. As Clark shows, the late fifteenth-​century Italian court can be located not only in the body of the prince but also in the objects that constituted symbolic practices, initiated political dialogues, caused rifts, created memories, and formed associations. Leah R. Clark is Lecturer in the Department of Art History at the Open University, UK. Her research explores the roles that the exchange, collection, and replication of objects played in the creation of social networks in the fifteenth century. She is co-​editor of European Art and the Wider World 1350–1550 (2017), and her work has appeared in a number of publications including the Journal of the History of Collections. She has received prestigious awards and fellowships from a variety of institutions including the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the British Academy, and the Arts and Humanities Research Council.

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COLLECTING ART IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE COURT OBJECTS AND EXCHANGES LEAH R. CLARK The Open University

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University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, NY 10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne,VIC 3207, Australia 314–​321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi –​110025, India 79 Anson Road, #06-​04/​06, Singapore 079906 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/​9781108427722 DOI: 10.1017/​9781108681155 © Leah R. Clark 2018 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2018 Printed in the United Kingdom by TJ International A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. ISBN 978-​1-​108-​42772-​2 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-​party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

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CONTENTS

List of Illustrations

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List of Colour Plates

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Acknowledgements

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INTRODUCTION: MOBILE OBJECTS AND SOCIABLE EXCHANGES IN THE RENAISSANCE COURT

Object Knowledge, Collecting, and Court Culture in the Quattrocento Diplomacy, Politics, and Historical Paradigms 1 CARAFA’S TESTA DI CAVALLO: THE LIFE OF A BRONZE GIFTHORSE

Introduction Lorenzo de’ Medici and Diomede Carafa: Arbitrators between Florence and Naples The Literary Life of a Horse’s Head The Significance of the Equine: Horseracing and Gifthorses The Horse’s Head and the Culture of Collecting The Agency of the Thing Given: Conclusion 2 PRACTICES OF EXCHANGE: MERCHANT BANKERS AND THE CIRCULATION OF OBJECTS

Introduction Florentine and Neapolitan Networks: Merchants, Clients, and the Courts Lettucci, Gems, Jewels, and Books: The Circulation of Goods The Practices of Pawning: Objects, Contenders, and Currency Fraught Relations: The Bejewelled Cross Between Commodity and Sémiophore: Conclusion 3 INTERTEXTUALITY AND COLLECTION AT THE COURT OF FERRARA: ROBERTI’S DIPTYCH

Introduction

1 11 17 22 22 27 39 47 53 56 59 59 63 74 95 105 108 112 112 v

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Contents

The Painting and Scriptura Debate: Paragone, Social Positioning, and the Status of Art in Ferrara The Studiolo and Eleonora d’Aragona’s Collections Folding Images: Engaging with the Diptych Form Word and Flesh: Caterina Vegri and the Corpo di Christo Fabula and Forms of Assembly: Paragone and the Intertext Citation, Imitation, and the Spaces of Collection Other Forms of Citation in Eleonora d’Aragona’s Collections Collection as Assembly: Conclusion 4 THE ORDER OF THE ERMINE: COLLARS, CLOAKS, AND THE CIRCULATION OF THE SIGN

116 120 124 130 133 139 152 156 158

Introduction The Aragonese Orders of the Jar and the Ermine The Statutes of the Order of the Ermine Members and International Association Representations of the Ermine: The Circulation of the Sign Ceremonial: Mantles, Collars, and Bodily Inscription Allegorical Representations of the Order of the Ermine: Ercole de’ Roberti’s Famous Women The Obligation of the Sign: Conclusion

158 164 168 170 174 193 198 206

CONCLUSION: TOWARDS A NEW UNDERSTANDING OF OBJECTS AT COURT

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Appendix: Eleonora d’Aragona’s Inventories

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Notes

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Primary Archival Sources

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Bibliography

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Index

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ILLUSTRATIONS

1 Parchment cover from Archivio di Stato di Modena, Amministrazione dei Principe 638 (ASMO AP 638) 2 Anon Ferrarese, Virgin and Child 3 Donatello or antique artist, Carafa’s Horse’s Head (testa Carafa) 4 Antonio Bulifon, ‘Palazzo del cavallo di bronzo’, 1697 5 Cavalli coin (obverse, portrait of Ferrante) 6 Cavalli coin (obverse, horse) 7 King Solomon giving audience from his lettuccio 8 Girolamo Savonarola’s Predica dell’arte del bene morire 9 Workshop of Donatello, Medallions in the Medici courtyard replicating gems 10 Diomedes and the Palladium plaquette 11 Sostratos, Chariot of Dionysus Led by Psychai 12 Roman, Apollo and Marsyas 13 Illumination attributed to Attavante degli Attavanti, Thomas James, Bishop of Dol’s Missal 14 Attributed to Cristoforo di Geremia, Medal of Paul II commemorating the Pace d’Italia 15 Apollo and Marsyas plaquette 16 Tazza Farnese 17 Ercole de’ Roberti, Saint Jerome 18 Andrea Mantegna, The Adoration of the Shepherds 19 Cosmè Tura, Saint Jerome 20 Attributed to Gian Francesco Maineri, Nativity 21 Ferrara School, Nativity 22 Ferrara School, Nativity 23 Gian Francesco Maineri, Nativity 24 Gian Francesco Maineri and Lorenzo Costa, altarpiece from the oratory of the conception (Pala Strozzi) 25 Attributed to Gian Francesco Maineri, Christ at the Sepulchre 26 Gian Francesco Maineri, The Resurrected Christ with an Angel 27 Impresa of the ermine, from Paolo Giovio, Dialogo dell’imprese

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28 Justus of Ghent, probably reworked by Pedro Berruguete. Federigo da Montefeltro and His Son, Guidobaldo 29 Guglielmo lo Monaco, Castel Nuovo doors 30 Detail of ermine medallion, Castel Nuovo doors (copy) 31 Guglielmo lo Monaco, detail of the central right panel, Castel Nuovo doors 32 Aragonese arch, with view of main portal 33 Aragonese arch. Engraving from Pompeo Sarnelli’s Guida dei forestieri 34 Inner portal of arch, right, Castel Nuovo, Naples 35 Inner arch Castel Nuovo, Naples 36 Inner portal of arch, left, Castel Nuovo, Naples 37 Inner portal arch ceiling, Castel Nuovo, Naples 38 Mezzo Carlino or ‘Armellino’ (obverse) 39 Mezzo Carlino or ‘Armellino’ (reverse) 40 Francesco Laurana, Beatrice d’Aragona 41 Guido Mazzoni, Ferrante d’Aragona (or Alfonso II?) 42 Portrait of Ferrante from Scipione Mazzella’s Le vite dei re di Napoli 43 Bust of Ferrante d’Aragona 44 Giuliano and Benedetto da Maiano, ermine detail. Gubbio studiolo 45 Giuliano and Benedetto da Maiano, Urbino studiolo 46 Leonardo da Vinci, The Ermine as Symbol of Purity 47 Ercole de’ Roberti, Portia and Brutus 48 Ercole de’ Roberti, The Wife of Hasdrubal and Her Children 49 Ercole de’ Roberti with Gian Francesco Maineri or workshop, Lucrezia, Brutus and Collatinus 50 Venetian?/Syrian? Perfume burner, c. 1450–​1500

161 166 175 176 177 178 179 180 180 181 182 183 185 186 187 188 189 189 191 199 200 201 215

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COLOUR PLATES

Colour plates are to be found between pp. 180 and 181. I Unknown artist, Tavola Strozzi II Illumination attributed to Gherardo di Giovanni di Miniato, Filippo Strozzi’s copy of Pliny’s Natural History III Ercole de’ Roberti, The Roberti Diptych (left panel: The Adoration of the Shepherds) IV Ercole de’ Roberti, The Roberti Diptych (right panel: The Dead Christ) V Illuminations by Cola Rapicano, Andrea Contrario’s Reprehensio sive objurgatio in calumniatorem divini Platonis VI Studiolo of Urbino VII Illuminations by Guglielmo Giraldi, Dante Alighieri’s Divina Commedia VIII Ferrante bestowing the Order of the Ermine on Federigo da Montefeltro

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We learn first as students and then as practitioners of disciplines, members of communities, users of libraries, habitués of archives, apprentices, and friends  –​as lurkers in particular intellectual, social, and institutional corners from which we look at the wide world. We see only one corner of the past or of the artistic or literary tradition, but we see it vividly, in color and perspective, because we know our set of sources so well and can study them in particular ways into which we have been initiated by teachers and by the keepers of libraries and archives. Our choices of topics, our uses of sources, and our ability to publish all of these results all hinge on our relationship with others as much as on our own abilities. –​ Anthony Grafton, Worlds Made by Words (2009)

As Anthony Grafton remarks, it is a community of scholars that shapes one’s thinking, and this book would not have been written without the numerous people I have met along the way: from the archivists and librarians to fellow scholars, but also those people not part of the academic or library world, such as the owner of a little restaurant in Naples who provided me with sustenance after a long day of research to the estate agent who found me a flat for six months in Modena. When doing research in Italy, people always ask me how somebody born on the west coast of Canada became interested in Italian art. Our research interests are always in some ways informed by our own personal stories. My parents ran a sail-​training organisation, and I grew up aboard a tall ship, sailing around the world. My interest in the mobility of objects was certainly influenced by the moving ship I called my home, but these interests also have ancestral roots. My ancestor Peter Rose first started selling second-​hand goods during the time of the Napoleonic Wars, when he purchased some marine items acquired from the French and started a precursor to a chandlery. His son expanded the business, making his fortunes in the rag-​and-​bone industry in Bristol, collecting any unwanted possessions, which in turn would be sold for a profit. It is rumoured that some of the sails of the famous Bristol Channel Pilot cutters were purchased by the firm to make high-​rag-​content writing paper. My interest in pawning and credit and the circulation of second-​hand goods in the Renaissance likely had its roots in my own family’s history. Merchant xi

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bankers in every age have found innovative ways of reinventing old things through the circulation of goods. Of course, issues around credit and the global economy are still pressing contemporary issues, which is why these subjects have become fervent areas of study in recent years. The book began as a PhD thesis completed at McGill University in 2009. My supervisors, Bronwen Wilson and Angela Vanhaelen, were instrumental in its conception and execution, as were the friends and colleagues at McGill (Anuradha Gobin, Sonia del Re, Krystel Chéhab, Sylvie Simonds, Samantha Burton, among others). Of particular importance was the Making Publics project, which consolidated numerous ideas about public making and new forms of association in the early modern period, which pushed me intellectually in so many ways. Since then, I have been at numerous institutions, all of which contributed in some form to the transformation of the thesis into the completion of this book  –​from the University of British Columbia to Alfred University in New York and Saint Michael’s College in Vermont, to finally the Open University in England. Colleagues and friends from these institutions have been invaluable in the writing of the book –​in their professional and academic encouragement but also in their emotional and friendly support over many glasses of wine, pints, and cups of tea: George and Debbie Dameron, Nicole Mombell, Mark Couet, Kathi Ivanyi, Heather Kelly, Kathleen Christian,  and Amy Charlesworth. I  am also particularly thankful to the colleagues I  met at the Getty dissertation workshop at a formidable time during the PhD process. I  am grateful to the many friends who have supported me along the way in their diverse ways. There are too many to list, but I do wish to thank in particular Katie Baldwin Kirtley, Melissa Chatton, Sara Knelman, and Susanna Brown for their encouragement throughout the process. My fellow Notting Hill (HQ) Poppy Loves Book Club members were also wonderfully supportive towards the end of the project. Various bits of my research for this book have been presented in different forms at conferences around the world. I thank all the organisers, co-​presenters, and audience members for their feedback, questions, thoughts, and encouragement. I am also extremely thankful for the mentors and professors I have had throughout my academic career, who have constantly encouraged and inspired me  –​Rhodri Windsor Liscombe, Rose Marie San Juan, Maureen Ryan, Katherine Hacker, Eliza Garrison, Caroline Elam, Patricia Rubin, Bronwen Wilson, and Angela Vanhaelen, among others. The research undertaken for this book required substantial time in libraries and archives, primarily in Italy, and I am grateful for the funding I have received from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, McGill University, and the Italian Embassy. I  am extremely grateful to the Open University for funding the copyright fees and colour image subvention

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for the publication of this book. Such grants and fellowships are the work of teams of people including administrators, reference writers, and heads of research. I am particularly grateful to colleagues at the Open University who saw me through the final stages, especially members of my department as well as collaborators on the MEM research group, in particular, my co-chair Helen Coffey. I am indebted to the editing team at Cambridge University Press, and in particular Beatrice Rehl as well as the two reviewers who offered invaluable feedback. Most importantly, the book would not have been written without the support of my dear family. My parents, Captain Martyn Clark and Margaret Clark, have shown me that travel, adventure, and a bit of risk are the recipe for a life well lived, but also fodder for intellectual stimulation and creativity. My nieces and nephews have provided the delightful diversions needed. My four sisters –​Julia, Rachel, Christina, and Esther –​have provided incredible encouragement from their various corners of the globe (Vancouver, Mexico, Toronto/​Ottawa, and Ecuador, respectively). Their intellect, wit, and strength have provided wonderful examples of how best to tackle any task. My family in the United Kingdom have provided a home away from home and a supportive environment, in particular Charley and Liz, who have continuously opened their home to me on so many occasions. Finally, I thank dear Simla, the Siamese cat who has offered necessary distractions throughout the editing process; her constancy is unfailing. This book is an object who has had a long and arduous journey in its conception, but I hope that it does justice to the fascinating and wonderful objects it examines. Most importantly, I hope it opens new questions and new areas of research and provides stimulation for the reader.

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INTRODUCTION: MOBILE OBJECTS AND SOCIABLE EXCHANGES IN THE RENAISSANCE COURT

In the Archivio di Stato di Modena, where the records of the Este family and the court of Ferrara are maintained, there exists a series of account and inventory books belonging to Duchess Eleonora d’Aragona. The parchment covers of these account books were often used for brief notes, and it is common to find quick sums of numbers being added as if the cover was a notepad. On one of the covers, one of the writers, most likely the guardarobiere Gironimo Zigliolo, has scribbled ‘pensi la morte tua’ (think of your death) (Figure 1).This memento mori creates a provocative statement regarding the transient nature of the earthly life and contentious issues around the wealth of goods, collected and recorded in such books as these.The writing of the inventory may have led those compiling to think of the issues at stake in collecting and the paradoxical status objects held in this period: on the one hand, they were symbolic goods reflecting magnificence and operating as repositories of knowledge, while on the other hand, they were often used as liquid capital, functioning as pawns for loans. The objects recorded within were sociable things –​in their intended uses, but also in terms of the people who maintained them, recorded them in inventories or account books, and those who handled them during their movement. Numerous objects in the early modern period were extremely mobile, and traditional inventories –​and approaches to them –​do not always indicate the transient nature of these objects or their contradictory status. Collecting Art in the Italian Renaissance Court is about the circulation, exchange, collection, and display of objects in the Italian courts (and in particular 1

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1. Parchment cover from Archivio di Stato di Modena, Amministrazione dei Principe 638 (ASMO AP 638) with ‘pensi la morta’ scribble (centre, left). Photo by author, with kind permission to publish from the Archivio di Stato di Modena.

Ferrara and Naples). It charts the ways these objects served as the basis for court relations in the fifteenth century through diverse networks. This book examines the multiple lives these objects led: how they served as the source for narratives and stories, how they were used as the basis for artistic invention and were copied, how they functioned as the starting point for connections between individuals, and how they could also cause political problems and rifts. Rather than focusing on patronage strategies or the political power of individual collectors as is common with studies on the courts, this book begins with the objects themselves to elucidate the dynamic relationships formed through their exchange. By beginning with the object, this study brings forward the mechanisms structuring relations within the court, and most importantly, with individuals, representations, and spaces outside the court. This book concentrates on the second half of the fifteenth century, a moment when collecting emerges as an important activity in the courts,

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but also coincides with the solidification and legitimation of many princely states and families (the Este of Ferrara and the Aragonese in Naples, in particular). The end of the fifteenth century was a pivotal moment in the courts of Italy, fraught with alliances and counter-​alliances involving not only the courts on the Italian peninsula but also abroad. The court was an important space where individuals sought to assert and legitimise their power, and this was often done through material and visual means. Arguing for a reconsideration of the object’s function in court life, the case studies investigate how the value of an object is tied to the role it plays in symbolic activities. The chapters that follow thus examine the courts of Italy through the myriad of objects  –​statues, paintings, jewellery, furniture, and heraldry  –​that were valued for their subject matter, material forms, histories, and social functions. Such objects are considered not only as components of court life but also as agents, which activated the symbolic practices that became integral to relations within and between courts.These activities –​the exchange of diplomatic gifts, the consumption of precious objects, the displaying of collectibles, and the bestowing of knightly orders –​were all ways that objects acted as points of contact between individuals, giving rise to new associations and new interests. The circulation of objects in the late Quattrocento initiated new ways for individuals to engage and connect with others: through a shared interest in a particular object; in vying for an object in competition with others; or through the marketing, consumption, trading, collecting, or pawning of items, often through a series of intermediaries. It is through associations that court objects prompted conversations, social exchanges that contribute to the formation of discourses around particular things or types of things. All the chapters highlight how objects were central to court life, although in diverse ways. In the first chapter, a bronze fragmented horse’s head is examined as a gift that forged connections between two diplomats (Diomede Carafa in Naples and Lorenzo de’ Medici in Florence [Figure 3, p. 23]). Featuring prominently in Carafa’s courtyard, the horse’s head became synonymous with Neapolitan identity and is examined not only as symbolic of the city but also within the role of the equine in Italian politics. The sculpture is a fragment, an object whose provenance and date are up for debate, and it thus serves as the source for numerous narratives. The chapter argues that the gift functioned on multiple levels, situating Lorenzo and Diomede within humanist collecting circles, while the sculpture became a source of interest outside the intimate circles of Carafa and Lorenzo, as it was referred to across media –​on coins, on neighbourhood insignia, and in print –​generating its own public. In the second chapter, focus shifts to the practices of merchant bankers, which facilitated the circulation of jewels and gems as well as larger items such as lettucci (daybeds). These objects moved between courts as pawns, commissions, purchases, and gifts. While many court rulers collected antique

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gems, possession was often temporary, allowing many objects to change hands repeatedly and to come into contact with a range of individuals. It was the practices of pawning and exchange that facilitated the circulation of objects, a process through which these artefacts accrued histories. Particular gems were sought after, not only for their material or artistic worth, but also for their histories and their previous illustrious owners, and many jewels were invested with names. Aside from their physical circulation, these objects were disseminated in visual form through replication across media, which raises art historical concerns around ownership, copies, and collections in the late fifteenth century. Moving away from the wide circulation of transient collectibles, Chapter 3 considers a small devotional diptych belonging to the collections of Eleonora d’Aragona, Duchess of Ferrara (Plates III–​IV). The diptych is studied in relation to humanist, social, and religious debates at the court of Ferrara, revealing how its particular form is closely tied to how one engages with and interprets the object. The diptych copied elements of a painting by Andrea Mantegna and referenced a number of other paintings with similar iconography and composition.This practice was not uncommon in the collecting culture of the Quattrocento, whereby many paintings and objects such as cameos, gems, and statues were replicated across media, and many collections often contained both the original and its copy, as explored in Chapter 2.This third chapter, however, examines the ways the multiple images on the diptych, and their reference to other objects and texts in Eleonora d’Aragona’s collections, encouraged a particular form of viewing, asking the viewer to piece together the various textual and visual sources in an intertextual manner.This intertextual reading is linked to new modes of viewing exemplified in the tradition of fabula and myth, which became a crucial aspect of studiolo culture and collecting. In the fourth and final chapter, the Neapolitan Order of the Ermine is examined through the mantle, gold collar, and representations of the emblem to demonstrate how these material aspects constituted the rites of the Order. The Order was founded by King Ferrante of Naples in 1465 as a means to propagate his legitimacy to rule, and the multiple symbolisms associated with the animal soon came to signal Aragonese hegemony and loyalty. The chapter elucidates how the emblem’s fixed repeatable sign became central in its ability to reference a constellation of symbolic associations and claims within an image, and unite individuals across time and space. The representation of the ermine in various media gave rise to emblematic modes of reading, while also transforming a highly exclusive impresa belonging to only twenty-​seven members into a symbol that could have meaning and signification in social practice, not only in Naples but also across Italy and even Europe. The objects explored in this book thus include more traditional art historical media –​colossal sculpture and painting –​as well as material culture –​gems,

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jewels, collars, and lettucci. Distinctions between these types of objects belong to modern categorisations; those who attended court in the Renaissance would likely have prized a small gem over a painting for instance, pointing to the risk of anachronisms when applying our modern categories and object hierarchies on to things of the past. The modern distinction between commodity and gift is also evaluated within the context of transactions, to elucidate how value creation was a process, and that the labels ‘commodity’ and ‘gift’ are less about what a thing is and more about how it is exchanged or its potential for exchange. Indeed, an emphasis on exchange is important for all the objects encountered in this book, as the conditions of exchange determine the value of the object as well as those individuals involved. Identities of objects, and those who exchange them, are never fixed but are often contested constructions. Thus the concept of obligation, which figures into gift exchange, is also examined here as providing a crucial component in economic exchange. The gift of the horse’s head, for example, is often studied within a limited time frame of gift and counter-​g ift between two individuals, but as Chapter 1 argues, it is indeed part of a protracted relationship over time not only between individuals or even groups, but as part of what Annette Weiner has coined a ‘reproductive system’ involving a much larger network.1 The obligation of the gift is part of a series of exchanges, where gifts and counter-​gifts are both material and immaterial, and in some instances, the rewards are undetermined, stored up as favours that might be tapped into when necessary in navigating the stormy waters of fifteenth-​century diplomacy. The same applies for what is often understood as more ‘neutral’ commercial transactions such as pawns or loans. A  merchant banker such as Lorenzo de’ Medici provided bills of exchange, pawns, loans, and ‘commodities’ to the princely elite, but he was also heavily involved in political negotiations and gift exchanges. Objects were used to solidify alliances, pay for wars, create ties of indebtedness and obligation, and operate as signs of virtue or magnificence, but they were also the sites of political tensions, instigators of financial ruin, and indicators of betrayal. Courtly account books that trace the movement and value of these objects also signal how the archive and the texts it contains should be considered a courtly object too, one that partook in, and was instrumental to, the daily running of the court. It is in this light that this introduction takes an account book from the court of Ferrara as a point of departure to elucidate the central (and often controversial) roles that objects played in court life. The account book displaying the memento mori message on its cover (known as Amministrazione dei Principi [AP] 638)  is both an object in itself and a list of objects (Figure 1). The book details many items in Duchess Eleonora d’Aragona’s ownership, and is less an inventory than a mobile object, an ongoing record that traces the movement of other objects.2 The book can be seen as a general account for the guardaroba for

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the years 1478–​85, keeping tabs on items, from silverware to mirrors, and from tapestries to books. What is particularly interesting about this account book is that it often lists where the objects have come from, detailing the item as being received as a gift and from whom. It records when and if an item was pawned and specifies if an object has been borrowed or lent. In the case of items such as cloth and silver, the book notes if the cloth has been cut up and re-​sewn, or if the silver has been melted down and remade into something else. It does not, therefore, fall into the category of a regular account book, which keeps track of expenditures, but rather takes note of the movement of objects, thereby contributing to our understanding of the social lives of things therein. This account book does not, by contrast, fit into the category we would normally associate with the inventory, as it does not list the items to record monetary worth, usually in the case of a death or will, but rather maintains a particular interest in the objects and their use, movement, and circulation. Under most items there are entries in different pens, from different years, that announce the particular object’s movements. AP 638 was thus largely dedicated to moveable goods: things that were leant out to Eleonora’s staff; items placed in rooms when visitors came to stay; religious objects used according to the liturgical calendar in the chapel; cloth remade into something else; books read and leant; silver pawned; and tapestries moved from room to room. A  few examples taken from AP 638 overseen and written by Gironimo Zigliolo will suffice to give an idea of the social nature and movements of such objects: Saucers two and ewers two, large, made of silver and worked alla venetiana with the arms of Signore Re [Ferrante], which were given by the Prefect of Rome to Madama [Eleonora], weight: one of the saucers 58 onze and one of the ewers 58 onze. Consigned to Antonio to give to Misser Andrea di Zenaro, servant of the Duke of Calabria [Alfonso d’Aragona] on the 7 of June 1484—​which, instead, were given to Misser Piedro da lino [of Linen] in Modena. Note that the two saucers, which are in the guardaroba, as they appear in the said inventory [inventory written by Gironimo Zigliolo] at 15 and one of the ewers were pawned in Venice as it appears in the book of records of Zironimo at 9. The other ewer is in the guardaroba as it appears in the inventory of the said Zironimo, at 15.3 Elephant teeth [i.e. tusks] small, length, around two thirds of a brazzo......... two Note that Madama Her Excellency sent to Bologna half of one of the said teeth to Misser Egano di Lambertinj Item, other half of the said tooth Her Excellency gave on 10 January 1488 to her Illustrious children Don Alfonso and Madama Isabella [d’Este]

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Item another tooth, and posted and noted in the inventory of the said Gironimo at 1274 Garment, one, long made of crimson silk, unlined Note that the above garment was made into coverings for carriage horses, the said coverings are being sent by Her Excellency Madama [Eleonora] to Florence to Lorenzo de Cosimo [de’ Medici].5

There is a particular interest in the movement of these objects and their provenances, in addition to marking the social and political nature of the items as gifts. Returning to the cover of the book (Figure 1), we are confronted with the very materiality of the object: the exterior cover is made from parchment, where leather straps, with metal buckles disintegrated and rusted with time, make their mark on the stretched calfskin. Splats of rust, pen ink, and mould stain the cover –​unintended markings mix with the intentional and authoritative script, which states this is the ‘Book of the Wardrobe of Her Excellency Madama.’ In pencil, at the bottom of the cover, are the markings of a later authority  –​the archivist who gives order to this old book by categorising it as ‘AMM.NE DEI PRINCIPI 638,’ and above, making sure later scholars are aware that ‘Madama’ refers to Eleonora d’Aragona. In between the buckles we find the memento mori message, written in fifteenth-​ century ink ‘pensi la morte tua,’ and as an added emphasis, the script is marked by long dashes, as if to frame the cautionary message. The text thus offers us layers of histories and points to the biography of the book. It makes us aware of the journey it has taken, and the various individuals who have come into contact with the text:  compilers of the goods in the fifteenth century to the archivist who again categorises these books, and finally the scholar, who takes this book out of its busta to examine its contents and make meaning of what lies therein. The memento mori message transforms the cover into a sort of frame, while making the object self-​reflexive. It is similar to vanitas paintings of still lives that were to become popular in much later centuries, which made the viewer aware of the transient nature of earthly life and the danger of acquiring too many goods, such as the painting he or she observed. The cover makes the reader self-​conscious of putting too much emphasis on the world of goods, while its function was to do precisely that. While the author of the memento mori message was certainly not the owner of the goods, he was an employee of the court, and would have sought to gain a higher position at court. In the culture of the Italian courts, power and status were reflected in the things one possessed, wore, collected, and exchanged. Magnificence and splendour, as is well known, were virtues expected at court, always according to one’s rank. As Sabadino degli Arienti informs

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us in his treatise from 1497 dedicated to Duke Ercole d’Este of Ferrara, Eleonora’s consort: The lofty virtue of magnificence, which you [Ercole I  d’Este] display with singular glory in everything […] Magnificence therefore must be considered as consisting of sumptuous, great, and sublime things.  As [does] her name, [so] she proclaims largesse and vastness in spending gold and silver on things eminent, high and divine as befits magnificence, always according to the condition and status of the man.6

Objects could certainly embody the virtues of a prince, but they were also indicators of political and economic instabilities, and the very volatile nature of princely rule. The fifteenth century in Ferrara saw a restructuring of the social organisation of the aristocracy, implemented by the Este in attempts to secure political loyalty by constructing a circle of courtiers who were dependent on the court for privileges and entitlements, as explored further in Chapter 3.7 This was particularly evident under the rule of Borso d’Este, who created a new nobility, and these practices continued under Duke Ercole d’Este and Duchess Eleonora d’Aragona; like Borso, Ercole’s legitimacy to rule was in question, and Ercole facilitated social fluidity and political loyalty by allowing civic and court offices to be bought every year.8 New wealth and the rise of a new nobility in Ferrara and in other centres in Italy undoubtedly raised anxieties and tensions around the relation between the acquisition of goods and noble status. A guardarobiere such as Gironimo Zigliolo would have spent much of his time recording purchases of the ruling family and then itemising and cataloguing those possessions into books, and recording them if they were pawned. The memento mori message on the Ferrarese account book might simply be Gironimo testing out a new quill pen but it signals larger anxieties and can be read a number of ways: a criticism of the luxuriousness of the ruling family; a reminder to the compiler to not be envious of the goods he handled; a cautionary statement for anyone who might be tempted to steal the possessions of the ruling family (it might be noted here that these books also recorded in rare instances the theft of objects); or possibly even an apocalyptic warning as the year 1500 approached. Our confrontation with this message immediately brings to the fore the numerous issues relevant to those who maintained, tracked, exchanged, and collected these goods. As it is very similar to the script inside the book, we might think of these words as the authorial voice of the compiler –​a signature of sorts, within the humanist culture that placed emphasis on writing and script as a means of identity.This signature is comparable to the authority assumed by the slashes of pen inside the book, crossing out entries already compiled, or the manicules telling us to ‘nota bene’ a particular entry. Following many of the entries we find an added comment stating, ‘posted to the inventory of Gironimo’ with an accompanying

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2.  Anon Ferrarese, Virgin and Child, fifteenth century, tempera, oil, and gold on panel, National Gallery, Edinburgh, NG 1535. Photo: The National Galleries of Scotland.

page number, thus these slashes indicate goods re-​entered into another inventory, another book of things. Gironimo has provided us with the equivalent of a self-​ aware image, to use Victor Stoichita’s words, but in textual form.9 This self-​reflexive nature can be found in paintings of the time, such as a Virgin and Child (Figure  2) by an anonymous Ferrarese artist, whereby the status of the painting as painting is made explicit by the torn parchment pieces with ripped tacking strips and a fly. We are made aware of the image as image, similar to the ways we are made aware of the account book as a thing and a book of things. The relationship between painting and writing at the court of Ferrara was tied to the social mobility of artists and humanists in the service of the Este.The differentiation between liberal and manual practices, especially in relation to writing, was a particularly charged debate, and was played out

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in the discussion around the position of the scribe, as explored in Chapter 3. Texts written by Ferrarese humanists such as Angelo Decembrio’s De politia litteraria criticised the conflation of the manual scribe (who merely copied texts and made them beautiful through adornment), with the figure of the author (who had the intellectual capacity to compose and interpret texts).10 References to writing were also taken up by court artists such as Ercole de’ Roberti and Cosmè Tura, who engaged with debates around the paragone, further examined in Chapter 3.The act of writing and the authorial script was thus a fraught subject in Ferrara in both literary and artistic spheres, and it is probable that our compiler was aware of its connections to social status. Gironimo Zigliolo, the compiler of many of Eleonora’s account books, was not merely a servant who tracked goods or recorded accounts, but rather, he was an important figure at the court of Ferrara. A  guardarobiere such as Gironimo received, consigned, and recorded goods and had access to mercantile networks, even travelling to acquire items. He not only did this for the court of Ferrara, for which he worked, but also for other ruling houses in Italy, especially those that had marital and political ties with Ferrara –​Mantua and Milan. In 1489, Eleonora d’Aragona had Gironimo scout out precious objects for her when he travelled to France. He returned to Ferrara with a number of treasures from Lyon, including a variety of small altarpieces, amber paternostri, and sculptures made out of precious materials such as ivory and gold.11 In April 1491, Isabella d’Este wrote from Mantua to Gironimo requesting him to buy ‘anything that is new and elegant’ in France for her, such as ‘engraved amethysts, rosaries of black, amber and gold.’12 Isabella obviously felt that she could trust Gironimo’s taste and that he would interpret ‘elegant’ appropriately. Also in 1491, Isabella d’Aragona, Duchess of Milan, requested from Gironimo some textiles and Beatrice d’Este (daughter of Eleonora d’Aragona and Ercole d’Este, and wife of Ludovico il Moro) wrote requesting various items.13 There is little secondary literature specifically on Gironimo, although there are numerous references to him and his family in Este court documents. Gironimo Zigliolo had brothers who also worked at court (Francesco, Guglielmo, and Giovanni), and the Ziglioli were a well-​established Ferrarese family. The original name of the family was Pellicciari, but it was changed to Zigliolo (or Gigliolo) by a courtier and favourite of Alberto d’Este.14 Gigliolo dei Pelizzari bore two sons, Jacopo (Giacomo) and Guglielmo. Giacomo Zigliolo became a courtier and ambassador to Marquis Niccolò III d’Este, and maintained a close friendship with Guarino, sending his sons to be raised by the famous humanist. One of these sons, Ziliolo Zigliolo, also became well established with Niccolò III, representing Ferrara as ambassador to the Pope in Rome.Through his diplomatic and political manoeuvring, Zigliolo became Count of Serravalle and was nominated podestà of Modena. This political and social success brought the family wealth, as the Zigliolo fortune was estimated at 300,000 scudi

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in 1434. Their fortunes were soon to change, however, when Giacomo and his son Ziliolo were both accused of treason in 1434, rumoured by the local chroniclers that this was due to political aspirations of their own.15 It is likely that Gironimo, the guardarobiere of Eleonora is the son of Guglielmo Zigliolo, a courtier of Borso d’Este. Further research in the archives will certainly reveal more about Gironimo and the Zigliolo family, but the information we have on the Zigliolo so far reveals that one side’s quest for power and prestige went too far and led to their public shame, the selling of their possessions and their house, and ultimately, their deaths.16 The other side gained and retained favour with the ruling family, and managed to maintain that success, even through the tumultuous period of Ercole d’Este’s succession. Considering the sad fate of the unfortunate side, our compiler’s note, ‘pensi la morte tua,’ seems particularly resonant. Furthermore, the family’s close ties with Guarino and the humanist circles in Ferrara suggests Gironimo would have been aware of the debates at court around scriptura, status, and worldly goods. On another cover, belonging to a smaller book recording fabric usage (AP 631), we find an elaborate coat of Aragonese arms painted on the parchment employing the expensive pigments of gold and blue. In crisp humanist script underneath appears the name ‘Girolimo’ accompanied by a quick sketch of a sign –​what looks like a notarial sign or a merchant’s mark. Aligned with the Aragonese coat of arms, it demands comparison. A poorer companion to the arms, it asserts a presence, similar to the memento mori message on the other account book. It declares some element of authority over the books and the goods recorded within.The interpretation again is unclear –​is this an assertion of power, as a means to rival the arms? Or is it merely a presence, the compiler making us aware that he is there and that his job is an important one as an accountant for the expensive cloth in the livery economy of the Renaissance, a sign of authentication? Once again it makes us pause and take note that such goods were not recorded by disinterested parties, but individuals who had a relationship to the owners of these goods and who, as handlers of the items described, had a connection to the objects themselves. Theoretical approaches to objects tell us that things bring people together, not simply to form consensus, but to discuss matters of concern and debate, acting as mediators in social life.17 These account books and especially their covers reveal controversies over the acquisition of goods, social mobility, and what material objects signified in fifteenth-​century court culture. OBJECT KNOWLEDGE, COLLECTING, AND COURT CULTURE IN THE QUATTROCENTO

Status was not only asserted by the possession of goods but also by knowledge. Collecting culture placed emphasis on a variety of forms of knowledge: humanist

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knowledge, antique knowledge, artistic knowledge, textual knowledge, and what will be referred to in this book as ‘object knowledge.’ Object knowledge was both practical and symbolic. For instance, one had to acquaint oneself with the appropriate prices of goods. One also had to be aware of the circulation of objects –​what kind of collectibles collectors were seeking, what valuables might be coming up for sale on the open market due to financial or political difficulties or death, and who had owned an object in the past –​all concerns explored more fully in Chapter 2. These were forms of knowledge that also contributed to the value of an object, but how did one acquire this knowledge? One way was through agents, whereby the collector could be kept informed constantly. Another means was through the association with such people as Gironimo, a guardarobiere who tracked goods for a ruling family and might ‘leak’ out or pass on important information. Gironimo’s engagement with material possessions and his cataloguing of them into inventories would have provided him with object knowledge, stored in his memory, to be accessed when needed. Recent approaches to inventories have reassessed their function and considered them not as transparent documents but social agents, which shaped a culture around cataloguing and ordering objects.18 The Latin word inventio generated two separate words –​inventory and invention –​both of which became associated with medieval locational memory, that is the ordering of things (inventory) and the creative abilities to invent something new (invention).19 A compiler of goods relied on his ability to remember objects, compare them, and to accurately record them, which built up the foundations of his object knowledge. Gironimo’s profession also required him to be in constant contact with merchants on behalf of the ruling family, providing him with sources of information on new goods or networks. Having Gironimo close at hand would have been particularly important for a female patron, such as Eleonora d’Aragona, who might not have had the same access to networks as her male counterparts.20 In a time before the wide use of print, visual knowledge of these objects was also crucial, something obtained through the repeated engagement with particular things or types of things. Visual knowledge was not always obtained through direct contact, as many objects were copied across media, a component that is central to the artefacts discussed in the following chapters. Objects brought numerous people together in diverse ways through their mobility; they also constantly circulated in and out of the commodity sphere. By examining particular objects that circulated through various forms of exchange, this book is attentive to the ways that objects could be used as capital, but they were also residual. Objects are absorbent and sticky things; with each transaction, something of the social sticks to them. In this sense, Webb Keane’s notion of ‘bundling’ could be applied, whereby objects

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are always bound up with other qualities, associations, and correspondences, and ‘these qualities together in any object will shift in their relative salience, value, utility, and relevance across contexts.’21 But this is insufficient if we merely stop there, as it suggests all objects are equal or do the same things. As this book argues, art historical inquiry can aid in thinking through the particular visual and material language of objects within specific contexts. The idea that objects accrue value over time and have social lives will be familiar to anybody who has followed the material turn in the humanities –​from anthropology to sociology to art history. This book is certainly indebted to this turn of thought and builds on theoretical approaches to objects put forth by scholars such as Arjun Appadurai, Igor Kopytoff, Bruno Latour, and Bill Brown, among others, with each chapter exploring how objects accrue social and cultural biographies and how they give rise to new forms of association.22 There has been a wave of Renaissance studies that have embraced these concepts and have applied them in various ways, some more successfully than others.23 But embracing the ‘objectual’ or material turn does not mean simply putting the object at the centre of inquiry, or writing both the history of objects and history from objects. Rather what is proposed here is a rethinking of how we approach the material world and how we understand the relationship between people and things, between social structures and symbolic objects. Scholarly approaches to materiality are in no way unified, and there are many conflicting arguments. Andreas Reckwitz has carefully outlined the shifts that have taken place in sociological approaches to the material world and its relationship to social practice. In one approach, ‘objects of knowledge’ or ‘symbolic objects’ become visible through our systems of meanings and classification. As Reckwitz explains, in this model the ‘material world exists only insofar as it becomes an object of interpretation within collective meaning structures,’ thus ‘objects of knowledge’ are material entities that exist as carriers of meaning.24 The material world in this case exists for us to interpret and observe; matter is simply passive until we make meaning of it. This kind of approach has certainly served traditional studies of Renaissance collecting and consumption practices. By examining systems of classification, a patron’s tastes, and a particular courtly setting, we can then make meaning of the objects housed within that milieu, as they reflect the social. On a basic level, this approach provides the same meaning and explanation for each object within that setting, as they are seen as ‘deposits’ of a social relationship or circumstance, to use Michael Baxandall’s term.25 An alternative theoretical approach, however, most exemplified in the work of Bruno Latour (and Actor Network Theory [ANT]) is the idea that matter too can be ‘a mediator, a social actor, an agent, an active being’ whereby the old dualism of subject/​object is broken down.26 Actants can be human or nonhuman, and they have the capacity to do things. For Jane Bennett, the

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term ‘vibrant matter’ encapsulates the idea of ‘thing-​power’ whereby ordinary objects have the ability to ‘exceed their status as objects and to manifest traces of independence or aliveness.’27 This, however, has the potential to give too much agency to the object as an independent actor. Instead, actants  –​both human and nonhuman –​should be situated within the networks, practices, or assemblages in which they participate.28 By doing so, this approach recognises that things do not have stable identities, but shift according to their interaction with other actants –​people and things. Anthropology has long been interested in how the alienability and inalienability of possessions have bearing on value. The seminal example is the exchange of kula shells in the Western Pacific whereby the status of individuals depends on their ability to collect and exchange the highly desirable shells.29 What becomes evident through this now established example is the ways the ‘fame of objects and the renown of people are mutually creating,’ so that objects can gain value by being associated with a particular person while a person gains value by possessing a particular object.30 Employing this anthropological understanding of the mutual relationship between people and things in conjunction with ANT allows for a new approach to investigating the material world. But is this simply a case of the emperor’s new clothes, and what relevance does this have for studying fifteenth-​century court objects? The anthropological/​ sociological model certainly provides a starting point to consider the complex networks of fifteenth-​century court society, where objects and people both had significant roles to play. ‘Object knowledge’ as it is referred to throughout this book, moves beyond the limits of ‘objects of knowledge’ to elucidate how people and things mutually constitute systems of value. Studying the networks of interplay between subjects and objects allows us to take one step further, to point out specific moments when an actant becomes a particularly powerful or influential player. This particular player then has the ability to influence other actants within the network. On an art historical level, this might mean identifying what types of materials, iconographies, and styles influence and in turn are influenced by the actants involved in the network. But this, too, leaves something out. One of the critiques of object-​centred ontologies is the undue weight placed on objects as agents acting alone and the problematic relationship to language, asking or requiring objects to speak for them to act.31 As this book explores, the relationship between images and words was a fraught one within both humanist and religious circles, and the question of language was one that plagued fifteenth-​century viewers, writers, and painters. Fifteenth-​century objects had (and have) the ability to act in diverse ways, some that play on semiotics –​such as a painting that opens like a book, assimilating practices of writing and reading, examined in Chapter 3, or an emblem from a knightly order whose significance depends on the ability of its sign

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to convey complex meanings (Chapter  4). Others, however, are made out of specific types of matter  –​a gold chain (Chapter  4) or a glistening jewel (Chapter 2) –​whereby economic value is more obviously embedded in the object’s very material existence. Objects do not all do the same things for the same reasons at the same time –​they manifest individual qualities, which might be particularly salient or symbolic that can make other actants respond at a particular moment, which might set off a chain of events. This response can range from initiating a new trade negotiation around a set of goods to the exchange of one symbolic object (a diamond ring) for a more basic commodity (salt). But this also can have particular ripple effects in art historical knowledge, such as the act of employing a unique antique gem as the wax seal on a letter, which serves as the model for an artist to copy, which then inspires hundreds of other replications across media, as explored in Chapter 2. Objects can also sometimes be mute (such as the horse’s head in Chapter 1) where the muteness of the thing allows for individuals to project different meanings onto it, serving different agendas accordingly. Anthropologists have long been concerned about the relationship between gifts and commodities. Luxury objects in the late fifteenth century circulated as commodities at one point or another in their lifetime, but we should, however, not be so quick to assume that these objects were merely neutral monetary commodities. Objects were exchanged on a number of different levels, as gifts, commodities, loans, and pawns and could sometimes manifest political qualities, with their meaning shifting according to context. A person’s identity was certainly bound up in the things he or she possessed, but there was also an anxiety around the relationship between the possession of objects and the construction of the self.32 The consumption habits of Italian elites are often examined in a celebratory fashion, identifying these trends as the emergence of a consumer society and embodiments of the individual self.33 The objects examined as case studies throughout the chapters of this book can certainly be categorised as splendid or magnificent objects –​glistening jewels, antique gems, elaborate daybeds, ermine-​ lined robes, a mobile diptych, colossal statuary –​but their ‘virtuous’ nature is not taken for granted. Indeed, these objects articulate anxieties around belongings when exchange is considered, as possession was often temporary due to economic or political downfall. This book is thus attentive to the specific rather than the general. It is not enough to simply categorise an object such as the horse’s head explored in Chapter  1 as a ‘gift’; rather by understanding the parameters that contribute in making that object an appropriate gift reveals the processes in which objects accrue or make value, depending on the context. Approaching the court as a network also remains insufficient, insomuch as we think of it as a stable entity. Similarly, reducing the court to the prescriptions

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set out by Castiglione in the Courtier or locating it in the body of the prince does little for our understanding. ‘Court culture’ is a useful term to understand a set of principles that individuals at court adhered to, such as the hierarchical organisation of the court and the particular social practices attached to that hierarchical order –​where one sat at table, or where one was placed in the precedence line in processions and so on. But courts were not one single culture or network, but rather shifting networks made up of people and things that interacted with other networks (or courts), which in turn shifted the nature and thus the composition of those networks.34 The approach taken by this book re-​examines the relationship between institutions and geographies, opening up possibilities to re-​evaluate the court, which in traditional literature is a closed entity that leaves little room for comparative analyses and re-​instates age-​old hierarchies. The methodological approach of starting with the object thus broadens the geographic scope of this book. While many of the case studies are based on objects associated with the courts of Ferrara and Naples, the entangled relations that such objects engender demonstrate the much larger networks at play. The exchange and collection of artefacts allowed for diverse individuals to come together, involving not only court rulers but also merchants, pawnbrokers, ambassadors, artists, craftsmen, servants, and secretaries. This reveals interconnectedness across geographic and political boundaries, bringing together, for instance, merchant bankers from a republic such as Florence with courtiers from the kingdom of Naples. The objects chosen as case studies for each chapter are ones that repeatedly resurfaced in both textual and visual sources –​artefacts that seemed to have something controversial about them, that generated discussion, or interacted with specific social and cultural debates. The constant circulation of many objects through pawning, gift exchange, and mercantile activities provide an opportunity to re-​consider our understanding of objects in a collection as static and as reflections of a patron’s tastes and re-​evaluate the sources, such as inventories. Rather than a general inquiry into material culture, or a study on a particular patron, this book pursues why some objects are more important than others and are crucial to certain social practices and relations.The sources consulted in this book thus range from the material and visual (paintings, sculpture, furniture, jewellery, manuscript illuminations, and architecture) to the textual (official and unofficial documents, such as ambassadorial reports, personal letters, inventories, anecdotes, and local narratives). The constant circulation of precious objects in the late fifteenth century reveals a system of value that placed importance not only on ownership but also on the replication, copying, and translation of those objects in an array of media. The quotation of both objects and texts in contemporary works of art, as this book argues, gave rise to new modes of viewing visual imagery that

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are most apparent in studiolo culture. This form of viewing requires decipherment; it asks viewers to piece together disparate parts and fragments thereby constructing meanings across space and media, as explored in Chapters 3 and 4. Many traditional studies have examined the court as centred around the prince, whereby the prince is seen as the centre of politics and culture at court.35 Building on approaches that see the court as an open and contingent space, rather than viewing the prince as the central focus, this book explores the court from diverse angles starting with the object.36 DIPLOMACY, POLITICS, AND HISTORICAL PARADIGMS

This study concentrates on the period 1450–​1500 in Italy, a time that witnessed complex political and diplomatic negotiations, within Italy and abroad. This period begins with the Peace of Lodi in 1454 and the institution of the League (or Lega) of Italy in 1455 –​famously recognised for the emergence of a state system, characterised by a new form of diplomacy with the rise of resident ambassadors  –​and ends with the French Invasion of 1494. What follows is a brief outline of the key political and diplomatic players. These years were marked by political turmoil, diplomatic uncertainty, and continually shifting alliances. This will be familiar to Renaissance scholars, but it is essential as a starting point in understanding the objects and people discussed throughout this book. The Aragonese kingdom of Naples played a significant role in peninsular and Mediterranean politics, as well as serving as a cultural centre, and thus features prominently in this study. Until recently, the art historical literature in English on the Neapolitan court was lacking and little had been written beyond George Hersey’s seminal, yet now-​outdated studies on the arch at the Castel Nuovo and Alfonso II’s patronage. Interest, however, is being revived by a number of scholarly networks and recent publications.37 The lack of scholarship on Naples is partially because most of the Neapolitan court archival documents were destroyed in World War II. The traditional art historical/​Vasarian tendency to concentrate on Northern Italy (and particularly Florence, Rome, and Venice) is also a contributing factor. In traditional diplomatic scholarship, the emphasis on Florence, and in particular on Lorenzo de’ Medici as the ‘architect of the balance of power’ has often obscured the key role the Aragonese played in Italian politics.38 Often characterised as deceitful, despotic, and cruel, King Ferrante of Naples’s approach to politics has recently been reappraised to demonstrate his actions were not very different from other rulers who were all trying to navigate rather unsteady waters. Indeed, Ferrante’s rule was one of the longest reigns in the fifteenth century, lasting thirty-​six years. By examining Naples alongside other courts, the book integrates the kingdom into the artistic and political networks of the fifteenth century, rather than treating it as

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an isolated case and, as such, attempts to break down the north/​south divide, a modern division rather than a historical one.39 In 1443, Alfonso V d’Aragona, King of Aragon and Sicily entered Naples in triumphal entry, an event depicted in marble relief on the façade of the triumphal arch at the Castel Nuovo in Naples (see Figure 32, p. 177). Alfonso had been granted the rights to the kingdom by Queen Giovanna II, the last Angevin monarch, who adopted Alfonso and legally made him her successor in 1421.40 To become King Alfonso I of Naples, Alfonso had to face opposition from the majority of the barons of the kingdom as well as by René d’Anjou, who also laid claims to the throne. Alfonso won the kingdom through a fierce military campaign and attempted to consolidate his position through political and diplomatic support within the kingdom and across Italy. To counter the influential Neapolitan barons, Alfonso encouraged the development of a class of educated and talented bureaucrats, who were dependent on him for honours and benefices. The kingdom of Naples, however, was a dependency of the Holy See, so that upon Alfonso’s death in 1458, Alfonso’s illegitimate son, Ferrante d’Aragona (Duke of Calabria), had to seek papal approval for his election.41 This was not granted by Calixtus, but with the election of Pius II, Ferrante was established as King of Naples, although relations with the barons continued to be unstable. In 1460 Ferrante met with one of the principal barons, his brother-​in-​law Marino Marzano, Duke of Sessa and Prince of Rossano, as a means to smooth relations and to come to an agreement with the barons. Marzano, along with his two companions attacked Ferrante and attempted assassination, which resulted in ongoing warfare until 1465 (Plate I depicts the triumphal flotilla of the Aragonese finally entering victoriously into Naples’s harbour). Alfonso I had allowed for increased authority of the barons over feudal communes, while ensuring central control by appointing officials as representatives in the feudal towns. Ferrante altered these policies slightly, by attempting to assert new members into the baronage and renewing the administrative systems in the provinces, thus creating a relative mobility in the ranks of the feudal nobility.42 Furthermore, this social mobility ensured that an overlap occurred in the administration of the noble seggi (quarters or neighbourhoods) in Naples, whereby the old urban nobility could be balanced by new Aragonese supporters.43 Aragonese rise to power in Naples was rather different from other families who gained prominence and power in the courts, although the instability of rule and the need for legitimisation was common among leading political figures in Italy. As Jacob Burckhardt remarked in his famous text, The Civilization of the Renaissance, a striking feature of this period was the rise to power, and the institution of, independent dynasties by condottieri, who were most often illegitimate.44 Federigo da Montefeltro of Urbino is often cited as

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the quintessential example of how an illegitimate son of a count could rise to the status of duke through his military prowess. Federigo, from 1460 until his death in 1482, was a key figure in politics, serving as military general not only of the King of Naples, but also the league of Italian states, while serving the papacy, and he was thus often caught in conflicting loyalties.45 The Aragonese were not only concerned with internal politics but were also in constantly shifting relationships with other Italian states as well as foreign powers including Hungary, Turkey, and North Africa. Aragonese rule would be continuously plagued by uneasy relationships, in particular with the papacy (which depended on which pope was in power), the Ottoman Empire, the French, in addition to erratic alliances with Italy’s key players –​Venice, Florence, and Milan. The Lega or Italian League instituted in 1455 saw the Aragonese enter a formal alliance with Florence and Milan. The treaty was to secure a ‘diplomatic hegemony’ between Milan, Florence, and Naples, and was bolstered by the dual marriage alliances of Ippolita Sforza and Sforza Maria, two children belonging to Francesco Sforza, Duke of Milan, with Ferrante’s children, Alfonso d’Aragona (who would become Alfonso II) and Eleonora d’Aragona, respectively.46 The period from 1458 to 1465 saw Ferrante supported politically by Francesco Sforza and Pope Pius II and financially by the Medici in Florence, who all preferred Aragonese power to the French. Peace was hardly realised as alliances and counter-​alliances between other states hindered any secure coalition, and deteriorated to the extent that a new Lega had to be re-​established in 1470.47 From 1465 to 1480, Ferrante continued to secure his succession and gain territory through military force, strategic marriage alliances, political partnerships, and the institution of the Order of the Ermine, but this was not a smooth process. The 1470s witnessed some of the uneasiest relationships between Italian powers, particularly following the death of Duke Francesco Sforza of Milan in 1466 and the ascension of Galeazzo Maria Sforza to the throne. In 1474, Ferrante allied with Pope Sixtus IV, which led to the formation of a counter-​ alliance of Milan, Venice, and Florence. Relations became dramatically worse following the Pazzi Conspiracy, when Giuliano de’ Medici was assassinated and his brother Lorenzo attacked in Florence by Pazzi supporters who were in league with Pope Sixtus IV. War was declared between the papacy and Florence, and Naples’s relationship with Florence and the Medici altogether deteriorated, resulting in Ferrante’s son, Alfonso, Duke of Calabria, marching a Neapolitan army into Tuscany. Antagonism was only eased when Lorenzo de’ Medici made a risky trip to Naples and personally negotiated with Ferrante over the course of four months (December 1479–​March 1480). King Ferrante would find himself in another war only a few months later, when Turkish troops invaded Otranto, leading Alfonso to quit his presence in Tuscany and

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defend Aragonese territory. Wars were costly things, and the pawning of silver and jewels was not always enough. Naples would once again look to Florence for financial help during this time, with the papacy eagerly supporting the expulsion of the infidel on Christian territory. Alliances were soon to shift again, when Sixtus joined Venice for a war against Ferrara in the early 1480s. Ferrante’s daughter, Eleonora d’Aragona’s marriage to Sforza Maria was never realised, and she was married to Duke Ercole d’Este of Ferrara in 1473 as a political move. Ercole d’Este had been sent to Naples during childhood to be educated, acting as a companion to Ferrante, and received many privileges under Alfonso I d’Aragona. Once Ferrante seized power, however, Ercole was slighted by the new king and sided with the Angevins, rising up against Ferrante in the rebellion.48 Following the defeat of the Angevins, Ercole returned to Ferrara where he subsequently became the successor to Borso d’Este. Ercole’s marriage to Eleonora was aimed to repair diplomatic relations between him and Ferrante, but Ercole did not prove to be a consistently loyal son-​in-​law, siding with Florence during the Pazzi War and often favouring Milan over Naples (exemplified through the political marriages of his children, Alfonso and Beatrice d’Este with Anna and Ludovico Sforza, respectively). Naples, however, was to prove an important ally during the Ferrarese War with Venice. In the initial phase of the Ferrara/​Venice War (April to December 1482), the papacy and Venice were allied against Ferrara, Naples, Florence, and Milan. In the second phase of the war, uneasy about Venetian power, Sixtus IV shifted his association, and joined the Ferrarese/​Neapolitan side, and the war finally ended with the Peace of Bagnolo (August 1484). The election of a new pope, Innocent VIII in 1484 who held Angevin sympathies, resulted in antagonisms between the papacy and Naples, and eventually led to another Baron’s revolt from 1485 to 1486. It was at this time that succession to the Milanese throne was sought by a number of contenders (including the Aragonese who always had their eyes on the Milanese duchy). In 1476 Galeazzo Maria was assassinated, leading Bona Sforza to rule as regent for the young Giangaleazzo, while Ludovico Maria Sforza gradually attempted to take more control of the government (while his political allegiance with Ferrara was solidified through marrying Beatrice d’Este). In 1480, Ferrante’s other granddaughter Isabella d’Aragona married the young Milanese duke, Giangaleazzo, but their rule was not to last long. Ludovico increasingly took over power, marginalising Isabella and Giangaleazzo and souring relationships with Naples. This rivalry increased in the early 1490s, resulting in Ludovico seeking support from elsewhere and eventually usurping the Milanese throne in 1494. On 25 January 1494 Ferrante died, and was succeeded by his son, the former Duke of Calabria, who came to the throne as King Alfonso II. In September 1494, on invitation by Ludovico Sforza, Charles VIII invaded Italy and seized the kingdom of Naples. This ultimately led to the downfall

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of Aragonese rule in Naples with the French taking control, followed by the Spanish who did not take the kingdom as Alfonso had, but ruled from afar with a resident viceroy. The fifteenth century was thus a time of upheaval and instability politically and economically, but that often occasioned the exchange of goods. Material objects exchanged between the individuals attached to these states became a crucial rite in negotiations, often resulting in unexpected obligations. The Sforza, Aragonese, Medici, and Este were also frequently in competition with each other over the procurement of antiquities and precious objects, which also often complicated relations. A  focus on objects in this study therefore moves away from traditional approaches to court society that have tended to concentrate solely on the prince. Significantly, it also reveals the important role that women played at court through their involvement in the collection and exchange of objects. This book opens avenues to examine the interrelationships and interconnections between courts, suggesting how political relations could often be found in the objects themselves. Court historians have underlined the need to distinguish between the ‘ideal’ of the court and the ‘real.’ By focusing on objects and their exchange, this book articulates specific activities that make up the particular formation we call the court, revealing the mechanisms structuring court relations, through tangible and physical examples. The court at the end of the fifteenth century in Italy, as this book argues, can thus be found not only in the body of the prince, but also in the objects that constituted symbolic practices, initiated political dialogues, caused rifts, created memories, and formed associations.

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ONE

CARAFA’S TESTA DI CAVALLO: THE LIFE OF A BRONZE GIFTHORSE

INTRODUCTION

In a letter dated 7 March 1787, Johann Wolfgang Goethe described his admiration for an ‘amazing fragment’ of a bronze horse he had visited in Naples (Figure 3): What an effect it must have produced when it was seen in relation to the limbs and body as a whole. The horse, as it was originally, must have been much larger than the horses on the Basilica of San Marco, and, even from the head alone, when examined closely and in detail, one gets an overwhelming impression of character and power. The magnificent frontal bone, the snorting nostrils, the pricked ears, the bristling mane! What a passionate, powerful creature!1

In this passage, Goethe demonstrates a need to recreate the effect of the entire statue; like many others who came before him, and many scholars who followed him, it is the fragmented form of the horse that seems to harness attention. Goethe’s use of exclamation marks reflects his own fascination with the statue, enlivening the animal for his audience. As a reader of Pompeo Sarnelli’s guide to Naples (1697), we are again confronted with the pervasiveness of the sculpture (Figure 4).2 The horse’s head dominates the interior courtyard, asserting its presence through the palace gates, and declaring its fame through the title of the print: Palazzo del cavallo di bronzo (Palace of the Bronze Horse). While this is certainly a depiction of a statue and not a live animal (made particularly 22

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3.  Donatello or antique artist, Carafa’s Horse’s Head (testa Carafa), fifteenth century or antiquity. Bronze, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples. Photo: Archivio dell’arte/​Luciano Pedicini.

clear by the fact that it is only a bust), there is an animation in its rendering, a visual equivalent to Goethe’s textual description of a ‘passionate, powerful creature’ with ‘character.’ Viewers today who stroll down Via San Biagio dei Librai in the centro storico of Naples can still catch a glimpse of the colossal horse’s head (albeit a terracotta copy) in the courtyard of the Carafa palace.The bronze head has sparked the interest of a range of individuals over time, including contemporary diplomats and ambassadors, as well as prominent scholars from Giorgio Vasari to Johann Winckelmann. In addition to the early narratives that speak to the bronze statue, scholars have returned again and again to the sculpture over the centuries. Certain details about the horse’s head remain unresolved including its original function, the artist of the work, and its most disputable factor –​the question of whether the statue is an antiquity or an early modern creation.The

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4. Antonio Bulifon, ‘Palazzo del cavallo di bronzo,’ 1697. Engraving. From Sarnelli, Pompeo. Guidi dei forestieri. Naples: Antonio Bulifon, 1697. (c) British Library Board: 574.a.22 f.45.

fragment is an enigmatic object and despite the efforts of Neapolitan historians and art historians, it raises questions that have not been resolved. The horse’s head, now in the Museo Archeologico in Naples, is of bronze, a material frequently reserved for public statuary, and has been skilfully executed (Figure 3). As a colossus, its features are rendered in their extreme: the eyes are large; the veins visible and protruding; the nostrils flared and immense; the mouth open bearing teeth; the skin taut in some places while wrinkled in others; and the ears carefully rendered with individual hairs fully visible. The details of its features and its colossal size allow the viewer to engage with it in diverse ways, either from up close or from afar. Its placement in the Carafa courtyard drew in a varied audience including visitors to the palace and

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onlookers from the street. The anatomical and physiognomical features of the creature are somewhat distorted in their largeness, but it is perhaps the exaggeration of its features, its sculptural hyperbole, that commands our attention. Besides its colossal features, the fragmentary status of the horse’s head, as this chapter contends, is also the cause for discussion. Carafa’s horse’s head should be considered a ‘loquacious thing,’ to use Lorraine Daston’s words.3 For Daston, particular objects give rise to a surprising amount of talk and the bronze horse’s head is a quintessential example of this verboseness. Scholars have attempted to solve the mystery of its origins and to date it, either from antiquity or the Renaissance, and they have battled over Giorgio Vasari’s attribution of the work to Donatello. This chapter does not seek to discover the ‘true’ history of the horse’s head but rather examines why particular objects, such as the horse’s head, get taken up at precise historical moments and in specific cultural and political milieus, to become what Bruno Latour calls ‘things that matter.’4 This chapter thus focuses on how the narratives about the statue’s origins and the various references to the statue across media  –​in texts and in images –​both point to, and generate, interest in the fragment, and how its function as a gift opens up avenues to explore its role in political and social networks. As long as details such as date, execution, or artist remain unknown, we are left with unanswered questions and we become hindered by the process of trying to obtain the facts rather than looking at the thing. But the very inaccessibility of this information should serve as a prompt to study the object in new ways. Rather than looking through an object, we might try to understand what ‘work things perform,’ and in what ways they may have something to say about particular subject-​object relations, as Bill Brown has suggested.5 Brown analyses our tendency to ‘look through objects’ because they are ‘codes by which our interpretive attention makes them meaningful, because there is a discourse of objectivity that allows us to use them as facts.’ But he points out that we rarely get to the thing itself.6 Taking Brown as a starting point and because key facts about the horse’s head remain elusive, it is more fruitful to consider the horse’s head not simply as a means to understanding Neapolitan court society at the end of the fifteenth century, but also in terms of what actions it compelled, what relations it formed, what connections it produced, and what reactions it provoked. To use a question posed by Marcel Mauss, we might ask ‘what force is there in the thing given?’7 Proffered as a gift from Lorenzo de’ Medici to Diomede Carafa during a moment in Italian history known for the emergence of what Garrett Mattingly has coined the ‘new diplomacy’ it would be easy to lose sight of the statue and to privilege the subjects in the exchange or to give precedence to the textual accounts regarding negotiations between Florence and Naples.8 This study, however, takes forward recommendations by more recent

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scholars such as John Watkins who have called for a ‘new diplomatic history’ that encourages new approaches to the field of Italian diplomacy, as well as art historians who have argued that images and objects are central rather than peripheral to diplomatic exchanges.9 Therefore, instead of viewing the individuals in the exchange as the only active agents, this chapter considers how the object exchanged is also an active player. By taking the horse’s head as a starting point, it demonstrates how diplomatic relations at this time were far from steady and often more ad hoc than Mattingly would have us believe. While there were certainly ambassadors at this time that can be considered ‘resident ambassadors,’ the individuals involved in the exchange of the sculpture were acting neither as ambassadors nor rulers. They were, however, key players within a shifting network of alliances, just as the horse’s head was. As Anthony Colantuono has argued, a work of art could be an ‘instrument of diplomatic persuasion, even of seduction’ and perform the role of the ‘mute diplomat.’10 Colantuono draws our attention to the ability of art to negotiate, and its capacity to convey complex and subtle messages, sometimes veiled in allegory and rhetoric. The interpretation of the object thus must go further than simply pinning down the giver and/​or the receiver, but rather needs to be located within the interplay of exchanges between subjects and objects, the material and immaterial. This chapter is far less focussed on the end results of the diplomatic negotiations, and more concentrated on the mechanisms and processes of those relations, the horse’s head being central to them. As such, it responds to the work of Bruno Latour and ANT, which repositions the object as a mediator within complex networks, rather than simply situating it within a contextual framework, as a reflection of those networks.11 The ‘gift’ as a subject of inquiry has been the focus of recent early modern studies, many of which have incorporated and adapted anthropological concerns around obligation, reciprocity, and indebtedness.12 Often given in public, gifts can render visible political alliances or dependencies but just as equally can be signs of betrayal, treachery, or shifting alliances. The horse’s head, which came to be prominently displayed in Carafa’s courtyard on public view, also signals the ambiguity in interpreting material objects.With multiple viewers, the statue could trigger loyalties or recondition feelings of mistrust, but it also gave rise to uncertainty regarding its origins, causing much ink to be spilled. For Petrarch, the fragment was what was left of a culture. He discusses the literary remnants of Cicero and Quintilian as dismembered bodies, fragments of once wholesome learned works.13 The horse’s head is the vestiges of a larger statue –​whether an antique fragment or an unfinished monument, it has yet to be determined. But as William Tronzo observes, it is not the fragment that is ephemeral but rather that which is enduring. It is the fragment that makes present what is absent.14 Viewers, authors, artists, and historians have attempted and still attempt to reconstruct the lost history through narratives, copies,

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depictions, and discussion. Rather than being hindered by the statue’s incompleteness, the fragmentary nature of the bronze horse’s head proves crucial in understanding the sculpture as a part of a whole, or rather, a part of various wholes: it is part of a larger destroyed or unfinished statue; part of the history and foundation of Naples; part of the diplomatic negotiations between Naples and Florence; part of the insignia of the Seggio (quarter) of the Nido; part of the rituals of lending, racing, and owning horses; part of the collection of Diomede Carafa; and consequently part of the Carafa Palace. This chapter begins by considering the horse’s head as a diplomatic gift between Lorenzo de’ Medici and Diomede Carafa, situating the statue as an active agent in political relationships at the end of the Quattrocento.The horse’s head is then examined as a generator of various narratives about its provenance, as evidenced by its ubiquitous presence in literary texts on the history of Naples. The statue takes up a prominent place within Neapolitan history, where the symbol of the equestrian is seen as synonymous with Neapolitan identity. The representational content of the statue is related to the gifting, lending, and racing of horses, which constituted elite forms of sociability and revealed political dependencies and instabilities. Finally, the horse’s head is examined in relation to the culture of collecting, demonstrating that its value is manifested in its identity as a precious object as well as in its role as an object of exchange that forged connections between individuals, resonating with its status as a semi-​public statue. Anthropologists have long been attentive to the ways the movement of objects, their exchange, and their symbolic functions operate together to constitute complex webs of gratitude, indebtedness, and reciprocity, and this study is particularly receptive to this approach, but also challenges some of the long-​ held general assumptions about gifts, to underline the importance in studying the specificity of the gift and its material conditions. This chapter argues that the statue functioned on multiple levels, situating Lorenzo de’ Medici and Diomede Carafa within humanist collecting and diplomatic circles, while the sculpture became a source of interest outside the intimate spheres of Diomede and Lorenzo, as it was referenced across media –​on coins, on neighbourhood insignia, and in print –​generating its own proto public.15

LORENZO DE’ MEDICI AND DIOMEDE CARAFA: ARBITRATORS BETWEEN FLORENCE AND NAPLES

I received the head of the horse that Your Excellency honoured me in sending, and it gives me much pleasure to have such a desired thing, and I thank Your Excellency infinitely for this honoured gift. I have placed it well in my house, so that it can be seen from every angle, and I assure you that not only will it always be remembered by me, but also by my

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sons. We will continue to be in your service and are greatly obliged, as such a gift is a great sign of Your Excellency’s love, and it will serve as an ornament to this house. –​Diomede Carafa to Lorenzo de’ Medici, 12 July 147116

Diomede Carafa’s letter to Lorenzo de’ Medici is revealing in its rhetoric of gratitude and demonstrates Diomede was aware that its display and mnemonic function were crucial points to underline in his thank you to Lorenzo. Moreover, Diomede underscores his obligation to Lorenzo (‘serannoli obligati’) and the sense of honour bestowed by the gift, elements often acknowledged as crucial aspects of gift giving within anthropological theories of reciprocity. However, the letter is certainly not revealing in its attribution; no mention is made of the provenance of the head and there is no reference to the great master Donato or to antique origins. The horse as a gift must be considered therefore not as a singular event, but rather as part of a series of events –​objects exchanged in connection to social, economic, and political relations between Florence and Naples, and consequently, other powers that were involved in peninsular politics in the fifteenth century. Gifts between Florence and Naples (and in particular between the Medici and the Aragonese court) were recurrent in the fifteenth century, ranging from art objects as well as architects and artists, acting as mediators. One famous large example is the altarpiece by Filippo Lippi commissioned by Giovanni de’ Medici as a diplomatic gift in 1457 for Alfonso I d’Aragona, King of Naples (King Ferrante’s father and predecessor). The altarpiece was presented to the king through the Florentine envoy and banker, Bartolommeo Serragli.17 In 1484, Lorenzo de’ Medici suggested that Giuliano da Maiano act as ducal architect for Alfonso Duke of Calabria, and again in 1488, Lorenzo recommended Filippino Lippi as the artist to paint the chapel of a relative of Diomede’s, Cardinal Oliviero Carafa, in Santa Maria Sopra Minerva in Rome.18 In 1487 the Ferrarese ambassador in Florence, Aldobrandio Guidoni, reported that King Ferrante had sent to Lorenzo de’ Medici two mules as well as a printed copy of the trial proceedings of the two barons who had rebelled against Ferrante –​Antonello Petrucci and Francesco Coppola.19 The letter also mentioned that Lorenzo was sending down a model of a palace for the king. This was to be executed by Giuliano da Sangallo, who in 1488 travelled down to Naples with the model as a gift for King Ferrante. Upon Sangallo’s departure, Vasari reports, the king provided him with a number of gifts, including horses, garments, and a silver cup filled with ducati, which Sangallo refused and asked if he might take antiquities with him instead.20 As Vasari recounts: this the king most liberally granted, for the love he bore to the magnificent Lorenzo, and because of the admiration which that monarch felt for the talents of Giuliano himself; the gifts thus conferred being a head of

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the Emperor Adrian, now placed above the door of the garden belonging to the Medici palace, a nude female figure of colossal size, and a Sleeping Cupid in marble, executed in full relief.These Giuliano despatched to the magnificent Lorenzo, who received them with great delight, and could never sufficiently eulogize the liberal proceeding of the generous artist, who had refused gold and silver for the sake of art, which very few would have done.21

In Vasarian rhetoric, it was the gift of art that symbolised the value of the men who exchanged and made these objects, as they recognised the value of art over money. The uniqueness of these diplomatic gifts conveyed much about the givers. The trial proceedings, printed in a small folio volume, were probably one of the first printed legal accounts of a trial, and with only 200 copies made, they were intended for the princely elite.22 Lorenzo knew the two barons well and the subject of the proceedings would have been a clear warning to anyone eager to plot and side with the Neapolitan barons that their end might just be as gruesome. Perhaps uncoincidentally, in the same year these gifts were given, Lorenzo was protecting two Catalan merchants who were in a legal dispute with the Aragonese relating to some loans and collateral that had involved Francesco Coppola, one of the barons accused of being involved in the rebellion.23 The architectural model, given in return, was also a novelty with the added benefit of the artist who accompanied it, in the form of a quasi-​ambassador. Bianca De Divitiis has convincingly argued that the palace, had it been built, however, was not simply a Florentine model exported to Naples, but rather was the result of intellectual exchanges that sought to accommodate the Neapolitan courtly way of life with its innovative plan. She has also argued that upon returning to Florence, Sangallo incorporated what he had learned and seen at the Neapolitan court into designs executed for Florentine patrons including the Gondi, underlining the flow of cultural transfers as a two-​way street.24 While the Medici were not rulers, Florentine merchant bankers did often act in the capacity of ambassadors both informally and formally. Merchant banking firms such as the Strozzi, the Medici, the Gondi, and the Serragli were also instrumental in the circulation of goods between Florence and Naples, as will be explored further in the next chapter. The merchant banker Filippo Strozzi in the late 1460s, for example, was a crucial link for Diomede Carafa to Florentine art and the decoration and design of his palace. In June 1467 Filippo’s account books record a commission to Giuliano da Maiano for a lettuccio for Diomede Carafa to be sent to Naples in July of that year, which inspired a taste for lettucci at the Neapolitan court. In March 1468, Filippo is recorded paying 2 florins to an anonymous artist for a painted copy of Piero de’ Medici’s scrittoio for Diomede Carafa.25 Carafa, who was actively collecting antiquities,

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had moved into his newly erected palazzo in 1466 and was looking for a model for his studiolo, which he built soon afterwards. In 1473, Filippo Strozzi sent down numerous gifts to the Aragonese and important Neapolitan courtiers. It is no surprise that Diomede Carafa was among the list of recipients.26 In addition, Strozzi was host to Leon Battista Alberti when he visited Naples in 1465, and it is likely that Diomede and Alberti exchanged ideas about architecture.27 The array of objects between Florence and Naples –​an altarpiece, lettucci, drawings, a model of a courtly palace, a colossal horse’s head, and the artists –​ and the multiple ways these objects were exchanged –​as diplomatic gifts, commodities, counter-​g ifts, and presents between friends –​signals the complicated and embroiled nature of relations between these two city-​states and between the multiple individuals involved. Exchanges, of course, are not only about the physical, tangible objects exchanged but also about the immaterial –​favours granted, creative innovations, political mobility, or even associative royal charisma. The gift of the horse’s head needs to be examined more closely within these layers of exchange, but also in relation to the political activity between these individuals. Diomede Carafa, first Count of Maddaloni is well known in the world of fifteenth-​century Italian politics. Not only was Carafa recognised for his various roles at the Neapolitan court and his close relationships with the Aragonese, he was also renowned as a famous collector and antiquarian, as well as the author of numerous Memoriali, a series of humanist texts dedicated to the Aragonese.28 Diomede is also reported as having an important role in the successful siege of Naples by Alfonso I d’Aragona, stressing his support of Aragonese rule. Aside from his military career, Diomede was respected for his loyalty to the Aragonese and was involved in administration at court. By 1451, Diomede already held the title of ‘scrivano di razione’ and on 28 May of that same year he also assumed the role of ‘amministratore generale dei beni.’29 These roles are often outlined as multifaceted; he has been labelled treasurer, guardarobiere, counsellor, as well as general secretary and administrator. Rather than attempting to define Diomede’s specific job description, it is more useful to see it as characteristic of Diomede’s many roles at court, which seemed to get only more numerous with time and which functioned on both personal and political levels in his relations with the Aragonese. After Alfonso’s death, Ferrante was made king, and at his coronation ceremony in 1459 Diomede was made cavaliere.30 During Ferrante’s reign Diomede’s power increased; he was granted feudal titles and lands, and he frequently appears on the diplomatic scene as a crucial participant in privy councils, as advisor to the king and as arbitrator with political figures across Italy.31 In 1466 Diomede was granted the title of Count of Maddaloni, and in this year he also finished construction on his famous palazzo in the Seggio di Nido, where he moved the office of scrivano di razione. The

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palace was host to visiting dignitaries and illustrious people such as Sigismondo d’Este, Anthony of Burgundy, and Matteo Maria Boiardo, among others. In addition, the Palazzo Carafa is frequently noted in diplomatic documents as a place where ambassadors often went to confer.32 Diomede acquired financial benefits through his land holdings, both in property outside of Naples as well as shops and houses in the city centre, and he is mentioned as providing financial assistance to the crown during times of deficit.33 Diomede’s power and wealth at times rivalled King Ferrante, but his success was due to his unfailing loyalty to the Aragonese. While Diomede’s allegiance to the king was unwavering, he also stands out as an astute arbitrator and negotiator, not merely a puppet for Ferrante, but a clever advisor who acted in the interest of Ferrante, but not necessarily always in compliance with the king. Many ambassadors remarked on Diomede’s powerful position and he was regarded as an integral part of diplomatic relations. Zaccaria Barbaro, the Venetian ambassador in Naples, noted that Diomede had the reputation of a second king.34 In 1458, Firmano Petrucci wrote to the Neapolitan ambassador in Milan, Bartolomeo da Recanati, commenting that Diomede was a sort of factotum and stating that the best way to ingratiate oneself with King Ferrante was to get on Diomede’s good side.35 Diomede was also a recipient of numerous diplomatic gifts, suggesting that he was seen as an important negotiator for Ferrante and for Italian politics at large. In 1472 the dissolution of the marriage between Eleonora d’Aragona (daughter of Ferrante) and Sforza Maria was under negotiation and Diomede Carafa played an important role in the Sforza divorce and her betrothal to Ercole d’Este, Duke of Ferrara.36 It was at this time that Diomede received a medal from Ercole d’Este brought by the Ferrarese ambassador, asking in return a portrait of Eleonora.37 Diomede had a particular influence in the outcome of the marriage negotiations and consequently, in 1473 during the marriage ceremonies in Naples for Eleonora and Ercole, Ercole’s brother and proxy in the nuptials, Sigismondo d’Este, presented Diomede and the secretary of the court with gifts of silver.38 Particularly telling are the recommendations given by Ippolita Sforza, Duchess of Calabria to her brother, Galeazzo Sforza, Duke of Milan in 1472 for gifts to be given to the Neapolitan court.39 In response to advice requested by Galeazzo, Ippolita recommends giving two horses to the king and two horses to the Duke of Calabria, but in addition, she suggests that he give one to Diomede Carafa. She explains the addition of the gift to Diomede is necessary because if Galeazzo has both the duke and the count as partisans, he has ‘the heart of the king in [his] hands.’40 Ippolita, who was often caught between loyalties for her natal family, the Sforzas of Milan, and her marital family, the Aragonese, was well aware of the intrigues at the Neapolitan court and who one might ask to obtain favours, even though this often aggravated political

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relations between the Sforza and Aragonese (further explored in Chapter 2).41 In addition to these gifts, Diomede was also the recipient of many other presents from figures such as Lorenzo de’ Medici, Eleonora d’Aragona, Filippo Strozzi, and the Venetian ambassador.42 Lorenzo de’ Medici first travelled to Naples in April 1466, where he went to establish relations with the Aragonese court and to promote the Medici cause.43 Lorenzo, as is well known, was an important figure in fifteenth-​century politics, not only a diplomat representing the Florentine Republic, but also a prominent collector, and decisive head of the Medici Bank. Lorenzo went to Naples again in the winter of 1479–​80 to seek peace, when political relations between Florence and Naples were in utter turmoil following the Pazzi Conspiracy. It was upon the first visit to Naples that he became acquainted with Diomede. Surviving letters between Diomede and Lorenzo suggest that the two men were in regular correspondence.44 While the gift of the horse’s head is often seen as a sign of a great friendship between Diomede and Lorenzo, their relationship should not be disassociated from the Italian political scene. John Moores has questioned how close this friendship really was and suggests that both Lorenzo and Diomede were conscious of the benefits such a friendship and its reputation could provide.45 Both men were politicians who acted on behalf of larger regimes: Diomede for the Aragonese and Lorenzo both for Florence and the Medici bank, while they also had their own personal interests to consider. Lorenzo and Diomede could thus be called ‘double agents,’ a term coined by Marika Keblusek and Badeloch Noldus referring to the multiple roles that early modern agents could perform, such as merchants, artists, and diplomats, sometimes simultaneously.46 The term negozio often used in diplomatic correspondence, conveys the multiple duties such double agents took on, which ranged from acquiring goods, commissioning artists, and purchasing works of art or books, to negotiating secret political agreements, signing trade deals, and issuing military commands.47 Comprehending the political situation and the particular climate that such gifts were given sheds light on the ways in which such objects do not merely symbolise political relationships, but in many cases constitute and even sometimes complicate those particular relationships. The late 1460s and early 1470s were filled with complex negotiations between Naples and Florence, involving constantly changing alliances and secret agreements with other ruling powers.Vincent Ilardi has articulated this three-​year period in Italian diplomacy following the death of Francesco Sforza as a ‘display of moves, and counter-​moves, a constant ripple effect, devoid of any grand design or goal.’48 Political relations between individuals of state were thus extremely uneasy and prone to constant scrutiny. In 1470 there was talk of renewing the triple alliance or Lega between Milan, Florence, and Naples. The league was to provide a form of ‘diplomatic hegemony’ in the peninsula on a Milan to Naples axis with Florence, namely the Medici, providing

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financial support.49 The aim of the Lega was to provide a strong alliance that would deter the Venetians from any expansions in the mainland and provide enough influence to determine favourable elections of popes. Maintaining a solid Lega would also ensure, it was hoped, to deter any foreign powers, notably the French and the Turks from invading. As Pope Nicholas V had articulated in 1454 in regard to the formation of the League ‘no peace could be forever, because the things of the world were not stable.’  The pope had hoped, however, that the League would achieve peace through the cessation of each state’s will to subjugate the other, ‘like two horses that after attacking and hurting each other must just stare each other down without further action.’50 The actual result was much less simple and even less executable. In the late 1460s, Galeazzo Sforza was eager to reclaim Bergamo, Brescia, and Crema, which had been ceded to Venice with the Treaty of Lodi, and he was seeking Ferrante’s help in obtaining these lands from the Stato di Mare. In May 1469 a papal-​Venetian alliance was instituted, and Pope Paul II was anxious to have Ferrante pay tributes and arrears that were owed by the kings of Naples as vassals of the Holy See. Consequently, this led Galeazzo Sforza and Ferrante d’Aragona to strike a secret agreement, whereby Galeazzo assured aid to Ferrante in the case of war between Naples and the papacy and Ferrante in return would provide support for the recovery of the lands from Venice. Turkish threats to Venice’s Negroponte in 1470 forced Italian states to reconsider a unified Italy to counter the Turks. Rumours that Venice was seeking a secret alliance with Naples provoked enough suspicion in Galeazzo Sforza and Lorenzo de’ Medici, that they sent ambassadors down to Naples to insist on a triple alliance.51 The Italian League was re-​established on 22 December 1470; however, it served more as an attempt at reconciliation than a reflection of actual political stability.52 With the fall of Negroponte to the Turks, the Ottoman invasion was ever more a reality to Ferrante, and on 1 January 1471, the king signed a secret alliance with the Venetian ambassador,Vittore Soranzo. This was primarily an allegiance against the Turks, but it also contained a clause that stipulated either party would provide defence if attacked by the enemy, notably Galeazzo and the Angevins. By October 1471 the rupture between Galeazzo and Ferrante had reached its height and Cavalchino Guidoboni, a go-​ between for the two rulers, had lost all hope for any reconciliation. Specifically, Guidoboni blamed Galeazzo because he had antagonised Venice’s fans at court, specifically Diomede Carafa and Orso Orsini. It was also in October 1471 that Galeazzo became the butt of many Neapolitan jokes, causing Diomede to comment that Galeazzo was such a coward that ‘he would not dare to enter Bergamo and Brescia even if their gates were left open.’53 A few months after Ferrante had signed a secret treaty with the Venetian ambassador, the Milanese ambassador, Giovanni Andreas, reported to Galeazzo Sforza that the Venetian ambassador had given Diomede a gift of two silver

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flasks and a ‘large and beautiful’ dish.54 The Milanese ambassador’s report indicates that such gifts were understood as telltale signs of real or hoped-​for allegiances. Although Diomede disliked Galeazzo, he was also aware that a war between Milan and Naples would cause irreparable harm to the state of Italy, and on 14 July 1472 he was part of a secret agreement with the Milanese ambassador Francesco Maleta, Ippolita Sforza, and other trusted advisers. The agreement included a pledge by Galeazzo not to aid the rebels in Barcelona, and in return Ferrante was limited to how much aid he would provide Venice if attacked by Milan. But any form of conciliation between the two powers was quickly dissipated when Galeazzo tried to steal a number of Ferrante’s singers, which gave rise to a long-drawn-​out quarrel throughout the spring of 1473, resulting in an impasse of the signing of important treaties.55 The stakes were high and not always clear. As Humphrey Butters has noted, ‘[T]‌he world of Italian politics was so fluid and treacherous, the creation of impressions so cardinal a feature of it, that no single ruler or regime could ever expect to command a clear view of what was going on.’56 Lorenzo de’ Medici was embroiled in these constant negotiations between Milan and Naples and he had the Florentine ambassador in Naples monitor and analyse Ferrante’s behaviour. Lorenzo’s relationship with Ferrante was complex; he often found Ferrante difficult to deal with and was aware that their friendship was clearly based on Ferrante’s acknowledgement that Lorenzo had political and financial advantage. Part of Lorenzo’s stakes in Naples was based less on a belief in Ferrante’s rule, but rather a fear of the increase in power to the pope or the French if they were to overthrow Naples.57 Aside from the specific diplomatic negotiations of political alliances, Lorenzo’s relationship with Naples was also embroiled in the interests of the Medici bank. Thus, while Florence was negotiating a renewal of the Lega in 1471, that same year the Medici bank decided to re-​establish a branch in Naples, which had been inactive since 1426. Scholars see no reason why Lorenzo would have opened the bank in this year, but it is suggested that the reopening had to do with political motivations to garner a Florentine-​Neapolitan alliance rather than commercial purposes.58 The bank did extremely poorly, due partly to mismanagement and partly to the fact that the majority of the loans were made out to the Neapolitan crown, notorious for its deficit, thus underlining its political intent rather than any hopes for profit. In addition to re-​instituting the Medici bank in Naples, the Medici, the papacy, and the Aragonese were involved with other commercial negotiations in relation to alum mines in 1470–​71.59 The papacy sought to have a monopoly over alum and from the mid-​1460s the Medici were the primary associates for the papacy in the market of alum. The Neapolitan crown also laid claim to alum mines on the island of Ischia, which were farmed by a Neapolitan merchant, Angelo Perotto. In 1470 the Medici bank in Rome entered into a

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twenty-​five-​year agreement with the operator of the Ischia mines, and Pope Paul II, Ferrante, and the Medici ratified the deal in June 1470 as owners and financers of the Tolfa and Ischia mines.60 Although the first surviving letter between Diomede to Lorenzo dates from March 1471, it suggests that there was earlier correspondence that has now been lost.The letter of 5 March 1471 records Diomede sending a Neapolitan buffone to Lorenzo for the festivities in Florence in honour of Galeazzo Maria Sforza’s visit.61 Lorenzo, as mentioned, had been in Naples in 1466 and, according to the letter from Diomede, had found the particular Neapolitan buffone amusing. In a letter dated just more than a month later (11 April 1471) from Luigi Pulci in Naples to Lorenzo, Luigi refers to a horse that Carafa was well pleased with, noting that Carafa was Lorenzo’s friend, but that it was necessary to keep him as one, otherwise it would cost him dearly.62 It is not clear whether this was referring to the gift of a real horse, or if Carafa had already been notified of the bronze horse. In any case, four months later, on 12 July 1471 we find another letter from Diomede to Lorenzo, thanking him for the colossal horse’s head, leading some scholars to classify the statue as a counter-​gift to the buffone, a point to which I will return. These gifts were given specifically at a time when there were a series of alliances and counter-​alliances between Florence, Milan, and Naples. Diomede, an astute player in the Italian politics, would have realised the importance in maintaining and reminding Lorenzo of their relationship, but Lorenzo also understood the importance of the friendship. Not only would he have been aware that Galeazzo’s relationship with King Ferrante threatened the re-​ signing of the League, but he also comprehended that Galeazzo’s behaviour was not winning any points with Diomede. King Ferrante is known to have been a difficult individual with whom to negotiate –​‘molto timido, pauroso et povero,’ as Giovanni Lanfredini, the Florentine ambassador in Naples in 1484, reported to Lorenzo63 –​and thus Diomede was probably a more suitable candidate for negotiations. It may have been his understanding of Diomede’s character that prompted him to give him the gift of the horse only a few months later. Lorenzo recognised that having Diomede on his side would be a critical component in his diplomatic relations in Italy. In addition to the intricacies of the triple alliance, it should also be remembered that Lorenzo was establishing the Medici bank in Naples in the spring of 1471 in addition to the negotiations around the alum mines, the same year that the horse’s head was given. Eve Borsook has observed that Lorenzo must have sent the bronze horse’s head to Diomede just before Lorenzo’s departure as an ambassador to Rome for the coronation of Pope Sixtus IV.64 With a new pope on the scene, political relations would have been unstable, necessitating the re-​ negotiation of alliances. While determining his relations with the new pope, Lorenzo required an ally like Diomede, as Naples was sure to be a key player

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in future negotiations concerning not only political alliances but alum and commercial interests. In short, the gift of the buffone, right at the moment when Galeazzo was visiting Florence, was an explicit gesture made by Diomede to encourage Lorenzo to respect Florence’s alliance with Naples, and the gift of the horse’s head was a way for Lorenzo to solidify his relations with Diomede, with the understanding that the diplomatic relationship was going to be a long one, and extremely crucial in the game of Italian politics. But in addition to the horse’s head, Lorenzo also provided Diomede with a series of antiquities. Lorenzo’s trip to Rome in 1471 was successful on various fronts: on a political level, Lorenzo established himself as an astute negotiator and diplomat; on an economic level, he strengthened relations between the papacy and the Medici bank; and on a cultural level, he acquired the majority of the late Paul II’s collection of antiquities. While many of these antiquities were desired by various rulers across Italy, from Ludovico Gonzaga to Galeazzo Sforza, Lorenzo was successful in procuring the majority of the booty, as the Medici bank ingratiated itself with Sixtus IV, cancelling previous debts in return for many of the items in Paul II’s collection. This enraged Galeazzo Sforza who had his eye on some particular items in July 1471, and who was later told in September that he could not buy directly from Sixtus but would have to deal with the Medici bank.65 Lorenzo and Giuliano de’ Medici were granted the positions of ‘depositors general’ of the Camera Apostolica in 1472 revealing that they had achieved favour with the pope, profiting economically from the alliance, and they surely also hoped for political advantage through the connection. Beyond the seizure of Paul II’s property, Lorenzo received ‘two ancient marble heads with the images of Augustus and Agrippa’ from Sixtus as a gift.66 While the relationship with Sixtus had deteriorated by December 1474, which resulted in the revocation of the office of Depositor General, Lorenzo still managed to come away from Rome with many of Paul II’s antiquities.67 After sending the horse’s head in late spring or early summer of 1471 to Diomede, Lorenzo must have felt that he still needed to ingratiate himself with the primary counsellor to King Ferrante. In March 1472, exactly a year after Diomede had sent the buffone to Lorenzo, the Venetian ambassador Barbaro reported that Diomede had received some ‘cameini’ from Lorenzo.68 Barbaro was visiting Carafa who was sick in bed with a fever when Diomede showed him the ‘cameini belissimi’ that had belonged to Paul II, noting that these gems had arrived in the last few days through the Medici. Barbaro uses the idiom that the gems had been ‘capitati nel suo [Diomede’s] cogolo,’ an expression in the Venetian dialect making reference to a heavy net, usually used to catch eels more effectively.69 Barbaro continues to comment that Diomede has the reputation of a second king, and therefore Barbaro will honour him and entertain

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(‘acchareço’) him as is needed.70 Barbaro, who was at the Neapolitan court to solidify an alliance between Naples and Venice, rightly notes Diomede’s particular importance at court, but also seems to be an astute observer of Diomede’s capabilities of utilising this position in procuring gifts and favours. There is a hint of disdain in Barbaro’s observations: first in his ‘cogolo’ expression, indicating that Diomede was somewhat aggressive in his acquisition of antiquities; and second, coming from an ambassador from the Republic of Venice, Barbaro’s comment about Diomede as a second king certainly carried tyrannical overtones. In the autumn of that same year, Barbaro remarked on six antique bronzes that Diomede had received from Lorenzo de’ Medici.71 A few days later, Barbaro reports having been at the Palazzo Carafa, and having seen the bronze statues that Diomede procured from Lorenzo.72 Many rulers across Italy were seeking to obtain the antiquities from Paul II, and the fact that Diomede got his hands on a few items through Lorenzo demonstrates that Lorenzo had privileged Diomede. Furthermore, the need to report on such acquisitions and favours, underlines the public nature of gifts and their political associations. Diomede Carafa was astute in recognising the importance of enmeshing his personal reputation with that of Aragonese hegemony and how the nurturing of culture could become a political and social tool. Similarly, Lorenzo de Medici is well known as an individual who knew how to craft an image of himself that linked his personal power and prestige with that of Florence, carefully nurtured through his patronage of culture.73 Both Diomede and Lorenzo had to walk a fine line to not overstep their preconceived role within politics. Lorenzo was fully aware of his precarious place within a republic while still attempting to formulate his political and economic leadership through discreet means. Diomede comprehended the necessity of stressing his loyalty to the crown, yet sought political and economic power through his role as political mediator, landowner, humanist, and collector. In his Memoriali, Carafa is careful to emphasise the need of the courtier to exhibit virtue by pleasing his Signore and to let go of any aspirations for political power, while he also warns against excessive riches and prodigality.74 Carafa’s writings provided recommendations for the present court and for future generations, but they also acted as a foil to any criticisms there may have been about his own political ambitions and excessive expenditure on his palace. Lorenzo and Diomede were both astute observers of social decorum and understood how material objects could serve as crucial negotiators. In 1474, Diomede wrote to Filippo Strozzi informing him that he was sending his ‘creato Bernardino Curiale’ on a trip to Ferrara to visit Duchess Eleonora d’Aragona, but first he was sending Bernardino to visit Filippo Strozzi and his family, as well as to Lorenzo de’ Medici in Florence.75 The initial gift of the buffone has often been read as a counter-​g ift to the

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bronze horse’s head; however, what these diverse examples signal here is the complicated ways commodities and symbolic objects were interchanged, and how the categorisation of gift and commodity, gift and counter-​g ift, become obscured within these layers of exchange. A buffone like Bernardino and artists like Sangallo and Giuliano da Maiano could be used as diplomatic gifts, thus also alluding to the problems of drawing clear distinctions between people and things, subjects and objects.76 The gift of the buffone appears at first sight, a strange and even comical gift to proffer, but we must remember the role the jester played in Renaissance court society. Little is known about Carafa’s buffone; however, Biagio Aldimari writing in 1691 refers to a Berardino Curiale, who was from a fairly noble house and who entered the king’s service in 1473, and he may well be the gifted buffone.77 Jesters, as Evelyn Welch has shown, had a more serious role to play, and their access to the ruler and the intimate spaces of the court, demonstrates their unique status within courtly rituals of hierarchy. Buffoni were often understood as suitable ‘gifts,’ frequently lent and borrowed. Eleonora d’Aragona, as mentioned, received Diomede’s buffone but she had also been visited by Bona of Savoy’s jester, Cacagno, in 1480. Her daughter, Isabella d’Este, sent a buffone to her brother Alfonso d’Este in Ferrara when he was ill in 1498 and a jester also called Bernardino (known as ‘Il Matello’ or the Madman) was buried in the Este family tomb.78 By the sixteenth century the rapid social ascent of jesters became the source of unease, causing one author to lament that ‘buffoonery has risen so high in status that princely tables are more stuffed with clowns than with any other type of virtuosi.’79 The buffone was thus a suitable ‘counter-​gift’ to a semi-​public statue as both gifts were ones that kept on giving. A living being who could provide entertainment to Lorenzo and others may have been ephemeral but provided memories and constituted a physical presence, who may have even intervened, albeit comically, for instance, during conversations between Lorenzo and Galeazzo in Florence. It was also an extension of Carafa, demonstrating he had the funds to maintain a buffone and hold his own court complete with jesters. The buffone also signals the symbolic exchanges involved in gift giving and the relationship between the immaterial and the material. The buffone was not simply a counter-​g ift, it was a sign of a larger immaterial gift –​that of courtly prestige –​something the Neapolitan court had in abundance, but which the Medici needed as de facto rulers of Republican Florence.The buffone operated similarly to the giraffe and other luxury gifts that Lorenzo would receive from Sultan Qaitbay of Egypt in 1487, as it signalled out Lorenzo as a worthy recipient, and thus on par with an affluent court.80 In its materiality, the horse’s head, like the buffone, also had a prominent physical ‘presence.’ As a large, visible, semi-​public statue, the fragment soon became woven into the urban fabric of the city and its history.

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THE LITERARY LIFE OF A HORSE’S HEAD

Throughout the centuries, the narrative of Carafa’s horse’s head was interwoven with a Neapolitan tradition regarding an antique equestrian statue, becoming an established trope to discuss in texts on the history of Naples. The historian Gaetano Filangieri was the first modern scholar to trace these narratives through the literary sources discussing the horse’s head, and his article of 1882 revealed how the histories of two horse heads became conflated in the sixteenth century.81 The first tradition of a horse’s head is that of an equestrian bronze statue, which was said to have been placed in front of Naples’s Temple of Neptune in antiquity.This horse was alleged to have been cast by the poet Virgil, possessing magical healing powers for all infirm horses. When the Temple of Neptune was destroyed, the Duomo of Naples was built in its place; however, the equestrian statue remained and, through popular legend, the tale of its healing powers continued into the Christian period. The horse became a symbol of Neapolitan freedom, so that in 1253, King Conrad IV of Hohenstaufen (known as Re Corrado to the Italians) demonstrated his dominion over the rebellious city by placing a bridle on the horse and attaching an epigram, which stated that the Neapolitan horse had governed itself until the just king placed reins on it, symbolising his authority (‘Hactenus effrenis, domini nunc paret habenis, Rex domat hunc aequus Parthenopenis, equum’).82 The horse stood in front of the cathedral until 1322 when the archbishop had the body of the bronze statue destroyed to make the bells for the campanile of the cathedral. The horse was then taken up as an insignia of the city as well as adopted as imprese (emblems) for two of the elite ‘seggi’ or quarters of Naples. Filangieri notes that the first author to conflate the story of the cathedral’s horse’s head with the bronze head found in Carafa’s palace was Giovanni Tarcagnota in 1566, who after recounting the story of the cathedral’s equestrian statue, declared the relic horse could still be viewed in the courtyard of the palace of the Count of Maddaloni (Diomede Carafa).83 The other narrative follows the history of the Carafa horse’s head. In the sixteenth century, Carafa’s horse’s head is both reported as an antiquity (from the Temple of Neptune) as well as a work by Donatello.Vasari famously claims it is an antiquity in his first edition of the Lives and proceeds to attribute it to Donatello in his 1568 edition. Connected to the story of Donatello, it has also been argued that the Carafa’s horse was part of an unfinished work of an equestrian statue of King Alfonso I  d’Aragona, intended for a niche on the triumphal arch at the Castel Nuovo.84 It was not until the nineteenth century that a letter from Diomede Carafa to Lorenzo de’ Medici was found in the Archivio di Stato in Florence that solved part of the mystery. As quoted earlier, the letter thanks Lorenzo for the horse’s head and notes it is

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displayed prominently in the palazzo’s courtyard.85 While the letter indicates that Diomede’s horse’s head is most likely not the remains of the Duomo’s equestrian statue, scholars still battle over the question of whether the horse’s head is a work by Donatello or an antiquity, and some still maintain it is the remnant from the cathedral.86 The primary sources unfortunately do nothing to solve the mystery and, if anything, seem to confuse the issue. One of the first narratives about the antique colossal horse comes from Giovanni Villano’s chronicle, written in the fourteenth century but not published until 1537.87 In his recounting of Virgil and his great deeds,Villano relates the story of Virgil’s creation of a metal horse, which cured the infirmities of horses and which was then destroyed to build the bells of the cathedral.88 He goes on to say that the remains of the horse were to be found in the ‘corte’ of the main church of Naples and that the neighbourhoods of the Piazza de Capuana and Nido incorporated a horse for their insignia, in reference to the Conradian horse. Pietro de Stefano (a fourteenth-​century acquaintance of Petrarch) and Pandolfo Collenuccio (a fifteenth-​century historian and humanist) tell similar stories of the Virgilian horse. Stefano states that the bronze statue was destroyed by religious authorities to be used in the construction of a large bell for the cathedral and maintaining, that in memory of this horse, the Seggio di Capuana used the insignia of the horse.89 It is Giovanni Tarcagnota (also known as Lucio Fauno) who introduces a new element to the story in the sixteenth century, which has particular interest for the Carafa horse as it is at this moment that the two horse heads get conflated.90 In Tarcagnota’s 1566 Del sito et lodi de la cita di Napoli, he repeats the narrative of the Duomo horse’s head but adds that this head can now be viewed in the house of the Duke of Maddaloni (the Carafa Palace).91 Giovanni Antonio Summonte also claims that the relic of the Duomo horse can now be found in the courtyard of the Duke of Maddaloni in the Seggio di Nido and remarks that the first noble seggi still take the horse as their insignia today.92 In 1592 Lorenzo Shrader of Halberstand listed the antiquities in the Carafa courtyard and mentions a colossal horse’s head but did not detail its provenance.93 Giulio Cesar Capaccio in his Il forastiero of 1634 refers to the horse twice. Capaccio’s book takes the form of a discussion between a foreigner (forastiero) and a local (cittadino), and the first reference to the horse’s head is described by the cittadino when he recounts the story of the Virgilian/​Conradian horse. The forastiero proceeds to ask about the two seggi that use the horse as their insignia. The cittadino conjectures that the ‘Caualieri di capoana’ have retained the impresa of the bridled horse in memory of Corrado to show their obedience to the ruling house, whereas the ‘Caualieri di Nido’ have retained the horse without bridle, as a means to show that vassals should never have to render allegiance by force.94 The second mention of

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the horse’s head appears when the cittadino is describing all the antiquities to be found at the Carafa palace.95 After listing numerous statues, he notes that there is a beautiful head of a bronze horse, which is believed to be the same horse that was dedicated to Neptune and on which Corrado placed a bridle, thus conflating the two stories. In 1640, Francesco Capecelatro recounted the horse’s placement in front of the Duomo but rejected the legend of the bridle and Corrado; however, he asserted that the relic of the Duomo’s bronze horse could still be viewed in the Carafa Palace. Francesco de Magistris in the late seventeenth century also retained the traditional story of Corrado, linking Carafa’s horse with the Duomo horse.96 Sarnelli in his Guida dei forestieri from 1685 discusses the horse’s head twice.97 First, in reference to the insignia of the elite seggi, and again in his section on the history of the cathedral, recounting the story of Virgil and the destruction of the horse’s body, stating that the head is now conserved in the courtyard of the Carafa Palace in the Seggio di Nido.98 Sarnelli provides us with something very important in the 1688, 1692, 1697, and 1713 editions of his Guida –​an engraving of the courtyard of the Palazzo Carafa, depicting the antiquities to be found there (Figure 4). Most intriguing is the title given to the image depicting the Carafa Palace, which is labelled ‘Palazzo del Cavallo di Bronzo.’  This is particularly important considering that palazzi were ­frequently named after the family who built them even after they changed hands.99 Here the horse has become symbolic and, to an extent, metonymic of the palace and of the Carafa family.The horse’s head is prominently depicted in the courtyard, almost alive in its realism, resembling a real horse’s head rather than bronze statuary. In 1692, Carlo Celano in his Delle notizie del bello, dell’antico e del curioso della città di Napoli repeats the story of the Duomo’s horse’s head in the first day (prima giornata) complete with the legend of Virgil, and notes that the head of this horse can be now found in the courtyard of the palazzo of the counts of Maddaloni.100 Later on in the third day (giornata terza) he lists numerous antiquities to be found in the palace of Diomede Carafa including a large horse’s head.101 Celano remarks that many have marvelled at this statue, and he attempts to clear up some confusion around the history of the horse’s head. He notes that Vasari claims it to be a work by Donatello and yet Celano insists that many ancient historians have always spoken of this statue as the impresa of the city, still retained by the Seggi di Capuana and Nido. Celano corrects Vasari by explaining that the horse made by Donatello was not the colossal horse’s head, but a small equestrian statue on a column, which was placed in the middle of the Carafa courtyard, and was a copy of the larger horse (both visible in the Sarnelli/​Bulifon print, Figure 4). He explains that one day King Ferrante was to go hunting with Diomede Carafa, but instead of waiting for Diomede at the castle,

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Ferrante showed up at Diomede’s palace before Carafa was dressed. Ferrante waited in the courtyard, and Diomede, in honour and in commemoration of his king, erected in his courtyard a statue of Ferrante on a horse in the exact spot where Ferrante had waited. It is this statue  –​not the bronze head –​that Celano declares to be the work of Donatello.102 The statue of Ferrante no longer survives today, but Bianca de Divitiis has discovered nineteenth-​century French drawings that reconstruct the column, demonstrating it was assembled together from different fragments, and would have also been visible from the street.103 Diomede’s horse’s head and its connection with the ancient equestrian statue of Neptune is thus recounted throughout the centuries, but another narrative emerges here, connecting Donatello to the work. We cannot be certain where and how the authorship of Donatello became associated with the horse’s head, but there are a few documents from the sixteenth century almost all of which are Florentine in origin, that affirm that Donatello’s authorship was already under deliberation. Early records come from two manuscript copies of Antonio Billi’s Lost Libro in the Magliabechiano in Florence, probably dating between 1506 and 1530. The two manuscripts identified as the Codice Strozziano and the Codice Petrei are very similar, with only minor variations in text. Both note under the section on Donatello that the artist created a large head of a horse, which was to be part of an unfinished portrait of King Alfonso d’Aragona and that this head is now in Naples in the Carafa Palace.104 Giovambattista Gelli, in his Vite d’Artisti, reports that Donatello made the bust of a horse in Naples for a portrait of King Alfonso, but that it was left unfinished, but makes no reference to Diomede Carafa’s horse’s head.105 In 1524, Pietro Summonte, in his letter written in Naples to Marcantonio Michiel in Venice, comments on a beautiful colossal horse’s head found in the house of the Count of Maddaloni and observes that it is by the hand of Donatello.106 In the 1550 edition of the Lives, Vasari mentions that many have attributed the horse’s head in Diomede Carafa’s palace to Donatello, but he claims that Donatello was never in Naples. In his 1568 edition, he retracts, stating the horse’s head is by the hand of ‘Donato,’ and because it is so beautiful many believe it to be antique.107 The inventory of Roberta Carafa, Duchess of Maddaloni, dating from 12 January 1582 listing the goods in the palazzo on the via Sedile di Nido, mentioned a ‘bronze horse, a work by Donatello.’108 Scholars have debated whether this was in reference to the horse’s head or the smaller equestrian statue of Ferrante.109 It should be noted that no inventories exist of Diomede Carafa’s goods from the fifteenth century. A copy of Diomede Carafa’s will of 1487 can still be found in the Archivio di Stato di Napoli, but it contains no reference to his collection, only bequeathing his property and lands to his relatives.110

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Later Histories of the Horse’s Head In addition to the early narratives, Carafa’s horse’s head continued to be a source of commentary in subsequent centuries. In Ferdinand Delamonce’s Voyage de Naple from 1719, the author notes that the fragment of the horse is very curious and like Goethe, attempts to reconstruct it, remarking that in its entirety, it would compare in beauty and size to the statue of Marcus Aurelius in Rome.111 In 1755 Margravine Wilhelmina of Bayreuth confirmed the presence of the horse’s head in Carafa’s palace and noted that it was an antique bronze.112 Both Winckelmann in 1758 and Goethe in 1787 also record visits to the Palazzo Carafa. Winckelmann contests Vasari’s attribution to Donatello and comments that it is ‘exceedingly beautiful’ and references the tradition of the horse’s head being an antique from the Duomo.113 Goethe in 1787, as mentioned, was taken with the creature, and notes that it was placed in a ‘niche above the courtyard fountain, directly facing the front gates.’114 The antiquities of the Palazzo Carafa slowly diminished through the centuries, and in 1809, the heir to the collections, Francesco Carafa, Prince of Colubrano, donated the horse’s head to the Museo Reale.115 In a letter dating from 14 January 1809, the Minister of Internal Affairs thanked the Prince of Colubrano for the donation, remarking that it is one of the most beautiful works done by the hand of an antique sculptor.116 In 1822 Lorenzo Giustiniani published a guide to the Royal Bourbonic Museum in Naples claiming that the horse’s head was a Greek antiquity.117 He retold the mythic history of the horse and noted that he was currently writing a dissertation to clear up some of the history of the horse’s head, but to my knowledge, these findings were never published. The horse’s head is currently in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli; until recently it was not on public display but could be found in the administrative entrance to the museum. There are two copies of the horse’s head in the city: a terracotta version in the Palazzo Carafa on via San Biagio dei Librai and a bronze copy in the Metro station nearest to the museum. Recent studies and technical examinations have done little to end debate about the dating of the horse. Scholars have looked to other works by Donatello in attempts to trace similarities or differences. Donatello’s Gattamelata, for instance, has often been a source of comparison. Filangieri saw a close resemblance between the Gattamelata and the horse’s head, while Aldo De Rinaldis in 1911 was not convinced there were enough similarities and believed the statue to share affinities with works from the Greco-​Roman period.118 More recent work by Licia Vlad Borrelli attributes the metallic composition of the bronze and its facture to Renaissance practices and particularly to the workshop of Donatello.119 In addition, Edilberto Formigli’s technical analysis of the

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horse’s head has led him to believe it was a Renaissance construction, executed by Donatello or in the circle of his workshop.120 The Carafa horse’s head has also been compared to an ancient horse’s head that belonged to the Medici and was known to have been on display in the courtyard of the Medici Palace in Florence. The Medici horse’s head has always been declared an antiquity, but some suggest that Donatello copied the Medician head and that Lorenzo de’ Medici subsequently gave the Donatello copy to Diomede as a gift. The Florentine horse is much smaller than the Neapolitan one and the two have been compared by Borrelli.121 Luigi Beschi has traced the Medici horse’s head, beginning with a document of 1495 that inventoried sculptures to be moved from the Palazzo Medici by the Signoria during the Medici exile.122 It was later returned to the Medici courtyard, where it was seen in 1536 by Johann Fichard who commented on a bronze head of a horse, noting that it was much smaller than the Neapolitan one.123 The Medici horse’s head was later listed in sixteenth-​century inventories of the palace and is currently on exhibit in the Museo Archeologico in Florence.124 More recently, art historians have returned to the fragment in attempts to fill in the missing pieces. Laurie Fusco and Gino Corti have conjectured that the small equestrian statue of Ferrante, which was in the courtyard of Carafa’s palazzo, is the work by Donatello and the bronze horse’s head is probably ancient.125 George Hersey suggests that the colossal statue once belonging to Diomede Carafa and now in the Museo Nazionale in Naples is antique and is the Virgilian horse from the Duomo, but that it has been touched up by a Renaissance artist.126 Hersey believes that it was used by Donatello as a model for the unfinished equestrian statue of Alfonso. In 1458 Donatello’s assistant and bronze sculptor, Antonio Chellino, arrived in Naples to work on the triumphal arch.127 As Chellino had worked on the statue of Gattamelata with Donatello in Siena, Hersey assumes that he must have been brought down to Naples to work on a large equestrian portrait of Alfonso, which was intended for the upper niche of the arch of the Castel Nuovo.128 To further this theory, he cites two letters written by King Alfonso to Doge Francesco Foscari and to the Venetian ambassador in Naples, demonstrating that Alfonso was aware of the Gattamelata statue by Donatello and was interested in having a similar one made.129 Hersey then tries to establish a theory that would coincide with the two stories of the horse’s head: both its connection to Donatello and its status as a relic of the Cathedral horse. He conjectures that Alfonso sent the antique statue north in 1452 to be used as a model for Donatello as an ‘ideal prototype’ and was then remodelled and altered upon Lorenzo de’ Medici’s request, thereby making a suitable gift for Diomede. Hersey thus contends that Chellino, an expert in bronze, would have arrived in Naples in 1458 to supervise the work on the equestrian group that Donatello was undertaking. In June 1458, Alfonso died, only a few months after Chellino had arrived. Due

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to the political turmoil with Ferrante’s succession to the throne, work on the arch was not resumed until 1465; by 1466 Donatello had died, leaving the statue incomplete and thus Ferrante commissioned a smaller project for the upper niche of the arch. Hersey suggests that Lorenzo sent the prototype, the ‘Virgilian head,’ now reworked, back to Naples to Diomede as a gift. Even more recently, Francesco Caglioti believes he has found the answer to the horse, in his discovery of documents pertaining to the Florentine merchant Bartolomeo Serragli and his connections with Donatello and Alfonso.130 Serragli dealt in luxury objects often between Florence and Naples and was closely tied with the Medici and the Aragonese (he was responsible, as mentioned, for sending Lippi’s altarpiece to Naples). In the autumn of 1456, payments are recorded to Donatello for a large unspecified work in bronze. It was also in the autumn of 1456 that work on the triumphal arch at Castel Nuovo was undertaken. In addition, Caglioti has noted that in February 1453 Serragli paid money to an intermediary, Antonio di Lorenzo, who was ‘busying himself with a bronze horse that must be done.’131 Caglioti refutes Hersey’s argument that the horse’s head is an antique and claims it is the work of Donatello. Caglioti contends that Antonio di Lorenzo, who had been paid a sum for a bronze horse, probably travelled up to Padua, where Donatello was working to strike a deal with the sculptor and to examine the equestrian statue of Gattamelata. Donatello must have accepted the commission, Caglioti argues, but suspended work after trying to juggle too many projects, only completing the horse’s head. Work was resumed on the arch in 1465 and completed in 1471, but by this time Donatello had already died, and when Lorenzo de’ Medici visited Naples in April 1466 he must have noticed the empty space in the upper arch. When Donatello died later in 1466, Caglioti suggests that Lorenzo may have remembered the horse’s head in Florence, and as the Medici were prominent patrons of Donatello, the statue could have easily been found in one of the Medici workshops. Recalling the original purpose for the statue, Caglioti argues, Lorenzo shipped the horse’s head to Carafa in 1471, uncoincidentally the same year that the arch was finally completed. The horse’s head as a fragment of a larger equestrian monument, whether an antiquity or an unfinished Renaissance statue, points to the very untenability of manufacturing such large-​ scale sculpture and the instability of political regimes they meant to symbolise. This is evident in the problems in completing the equestrian monument for King Alfonso, but also in the one intended for another Italian court with close ties to Naples –​the Sforza horse designed by Leonardo da Vinci in Milan.132 The Sforza monument was an ambitious project, never cast, but its planning was executed from 1482 to 14​99, and its inception dates even earlier from 1454 when Duke Francesco Sforza first proposed that two statues be made to commemorate him and his wife. This first project was never realised but Francesco’s sons, Galeazzo Maria

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Sforza and Ludovico il Moro, were both individually keen on realising the monument as a memory to their father and to bolster their own legitimacy. Leonardo’s letter of introduction to Ludovico specifically referred to ‘work on a bronze horse’ and its ability to bestow the ‘immortal glory and eternal honor of the prince your father of happy memory, and of the illustrious house of Sforza.’133 Ludovico and Leonardo had in mind to build a colossal statue to rival those of the ancients and to elevate the status of the founder of the Sforza dynasty to an emperor or god. Very few artists had the technical skills to attempt such a feat, but Leonardo, trained in Verrocchio’s workshop and likely witness or even contributor to the sketches and preparations for the Colleoni monument, felt fit for the purpose. It has been suggested that Leonardo looked to the Medici horse’s head as a model, and that Carafa’s horse’s head may have even been a source of inspiration.134 The Carafa horse would have already been in Naples by this time, but its colossal size might have inspired the sheer scale of the Sforza monument. Not everybody was convinced Leonardo was up for the job, but in court poetry, the artist’s rise to the challenge was seen as noteworthy attempt to compete with the ancients and his ability to work the medium was compared with the rider’s ability to tame nature. The competition was not simply between the moderns and the ancients, but also between contemporaries. If Leonardo had been successful he would have surpassed Donatello’s incomplete Aragonese equestrian monument, and on a political level, Ludovico (by proxy of his father’s portrait) would have outshone his political rivals, the Aragonese. But this was not to be. In 1499 French troops descended into Milan, and Leonardo’s clay model of the statue was used in target practice by the soldiers. The moulds however were saved, and in 1501, an eager Duke Ercole d’Este of Ferrara wrote to the French governor of Milan to see if he could obtain the clay moulds.We do not know the outcome of his request, but it underlines the varying levels of value embedded in such monumental sculpture. The moulds represent the technical and artistic value of the project, but also the mutability of the intended material of bronze. For soon after the French had arrived, Ludovico’s priorities had shifted, and he sent the bronze intended for the construction of the statue to Ferrara to be made into cannon, probably as a partial repayment for an unpaid debt.135 The demise of the project reveals the very precariousness of Ludovico’s power on a political, financial, and military level. The equestrian monuments planned for the Sforza and Aragonese exemplify how the vagaries of political power are manifested in commemorative works of art but also how the materiality of such large-​scale colossal sculpture often led to the abortion of the whole programme before it was even completed. Carafa’s horse’s head, a fragment of a larger work, created a web of associations around it. If, as Caglioti suggests, it was a work by Donatello, commissioned by Alfonso but ending up in Lorenzo’s hands, the horse’s final passage down

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to Naples and into the courtyard of Carafa underlines the connections such an object activates through its social life. The numerous narratives that were generated by the statue demonstrate how its fragmentary nature prompted discussion about its provenance. It is its very elusiveness that gives rise to diverse stories, causing some writers to connect it to the historical foundations of Naples, while encouraging others to attribute it to fifteenth-​century artistic invention and skill. This ambiguity seems to be part of its appeal, fostering interest in its very fragmented incomplete form. We can only be certain that Lorenzo de’ Medici at one time owned, or had access to, two horse heads, one that he kept and one that he sent down to Naples as a gift to Diomede Carafa. Carafa was familiar with the Medici Palace; it would thus be easy to conclude that Diomede was trying to mimic the Medici Palace, in his acquisition of a horse’s head, his erection of a columnar statue (which has been compared to Donatello’s David), and his procurement of a sketch of the Medici studiolo. De Divitiis, however, has shown successfully that Diomede’s palace was indeed a unique expression of Carafa, his loyalty to the Aragonese, and an example of the Neapolitan attitude towards the antique.136 Rather than a one-​way flow, artistic exchanges between Naples and Florence were dynamic, active, and reciprocal. Diomede certainly looked to Florence, but his initial inspiration came from the local Neapolitan tradition, and furthermore, Diomede had something that Lorenzo and the Florentines did not –​antique ruins readily available to pillage around Naples, but more importantly, located right on his own properties.137 It might be more accurate then, to suggest that Diomede Carafa and Lorenzo de’ Medici had shared interests in antiquity and its material remains and that they utilised this shared language as a way to communicate and negotiate, particularly when real language had failed. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE EQUINE: HORSERACING AND GIFTHORSES

Why a horse and what did the equine mean for fifteenth-​century viewers? Equestrian statues were common vocabulary for rulers. Both King Ferrante d’Aragona and his son Alfonso had equestrian statues built over the city gates of Naples, and the previous Neapolitan rulers, Ladislas and Charles had also used equestrian iconography.138 Giovanni Carafa also arranged for the portrait of King Alfonso on horseback to be painted on the Castel Capuano  –​the cause of one of the well-​known literary feuds between Antonio Panormita and Lorenzo Valla. This association between another Carafa and an equestrian monument may even have figured into Lorenzo de’ Medici’s choice of gift.139 But by understanding the significance of live horses in the late Quattrocento, we can come to a better appreciation of the importance of

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the object’s iconography. Horses were a common gift between rulers of state and horseracing was a popular social activity in the fifteenth century, linked to three main activities: the giving and loaning of horses between rulers and important figures, which constituted diplomatic relations and political manoeuvring; the actual horseraces or palii, which were connected to a city’s identity, and often its patron saint; and the participation in the actual event of the horseracing, either as observer, contestant, or as owner of a racehorse.140 Horses provided a range of ways to signify prestige and social standing. To purchase and breed horses one had to have access to a substantial amount of funds. In addition, one had to have the knowledge about horses as there were many types of breeds, some special to jousting, others more suitable to hunting and riding. The Gonzaga were famous for their stables; Lorenzo de’ Medici became increasingly interested in purchasing and maintaining horses as well as partaking in tournaments; King Ferrante was also renowned for his ‘collection’ of horses and is recorded commissioning books on medicine for horses; Carafa bred and gifted horses; but many leading members of the Italian elite across Italy all took interest in horses, horseracing, and the gifting of horses.141 King Ferrante played a key role in the exchange of horses with individuals across Italy and abroad and numerous letters attest to the recurrent exchange of horses, as gifts or loans. In 1460 Ferrante is recorded sending a horse to the pope;142 in 1471 Ferrante sent four great corsieri to the Borso d’Este complete with all their apparel and cloth;143 in 1472 he sent two horses to the Duke of Milan;144 and in 1473 he gave horses to the individuals involved in the bridal party of his daughter, Eleonora d’Aragona, including Sigismondo and Alberto d’Este.145 Many horses were exchanged between the Gonzaga and Ferrante,146 and in 1492 Francesco Gonzaga requested a particular horse from Ferrante to use for a joust in Milan.147 Horses were also a common gift between foreign powers, and were continually exchanged between Naples and France and Naples and Turkey –​two powers who were constant threats to the Neapolitan kingdom.148 King Ferrante also commonly gave a horse and a gold chain to ambassadors upon their departure from Naples.149 The gift of horses carried political import, often when relations were unsteady or undetermined. For instance, during the hostile relations between Naples and Milan in 1471, Giovanni Andrea Cagnola, the Milanese ambassador, was given the unpleasant role of intermediary between Galeazzo and Ferrante. Cagnola was embarrassed about Galeazzo’s reputation in Naples, and Galeazzo, sensing Cagnola’s timidity, recalled him for being too gentle with the Neapolitan court. Upon his departure, Ferrante, who understood Cagnola’s awkward position, awarded the ambassador with a horse and a gold chain.150 Horses were also deemed to be a suitable gift for Ferrante. When Francesco Maleta, the Milanese ambassador in Naples, was asked by the Duke of Milan in 1474 what an appropriate gift for the king would be, he recommended sending

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horses.151 In particular, Maleta provides three suggestions that would be suitable as a gift from ‘prince to prince’: his first suggestion is two or three horses; the second, a pair of beautiful stallions; and his third suggestion, some falcons with their own special cage.152 The relations between the papacy and the Kingdom of Naples were constituted by the gift of a horse. Tribute payments to the papacy were always accompanied by the present of a white riding horse from the rulers of Naples, dating back to the times of the Angevin monarchy. During unstable relations, Paul II demanded the tribute money from Ferrante, but the king only sent the token white horse, which did not satisfy Paul II, and as an act of breaching social and diplomatic decorum, he sent back the horse to Ferrante.153 The exchange of horses between Ferrante and Lorenzo de’ Medici exemplifies the way political relations between these two individuals were embroiled in the gifting of horses. Lorenzo’s dependence on horses from Ferrante, for example, in the early stages of their relations has been interpreted as a sign of a broader dependence on Naples.154 At the end of July 1470 when relations between Milan, Florence, and Naples were most unstable, Lorenzo had Otto Niccolini look into procuring four horses from Sicily and the king became involved, offering two horses to Lorenzo as gifts.155 More horses were exchanged between Lorenzo and Ferrante in 1477 and again in April 1480 when six corsieri and a mule arrived in Florence as a gift from Ferrante.156 The exchange of horses played a significant role in diplomatic manoeuvring so that in 1477, when relations between Ferrante and Lorenzo were deteriorating, Lorenzo gave the king two stallions, il Sardo and il Gentile. It was also in 1477, preceding the Pazzi Conspiracy, when threats to Lorenzo’s life were already circulating in rumours and his relationship with King Ferrante was particularly unstable, that Ferrante opened up his stables for Lorenzo’s servant to select a pair of jousting horses to be borrowed for a tournament in Florence. Lorenzo then returned the favour by the gift of a mare to the king. In 1482 Lorenzo received the gift of a Turkish warhorse sent by Ferrante from the spoils taken after the recapture of Otranto.157 In light of the political situation and in conjunction with a letter from Diomede to Lorenzo this is particularly noteworthy. In 1481 Ferrante sought aid from Lorenzo in evicting the Turks from Otranto, relying heavily on Lorenzo for financial assistance. In return, Ferrante offered the restitution of lands occupied by the Sienese that had been controlled by Naples in the Pazzi War of 1478–​80.158 As Butters has noted, it was the invasion of the Turks in Otranto that forced Alfonso, Duke of Calabria (Ferrante’s son), to leave Siena, where he had been enjoying a commanding political role.159 Relations between Lorenzo and Ferrante have been traditionally assumed to be good in the early 1480s, but Moores, among others, have shown that the restitution of the Sienese territories took longer than expected.160 A  letter from Diomede to Lorenzo demonstrates that the lands were only being slowly

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reacquired after much deliberating and general hostility.The letter dates from 9 January 1482 and Diomede is particularly offended by Lorenzo’s aggressiveness in the matter, rebuking Lorenzo for his treatment of Ferrante.161 With this in mind, Ferrante’s gift of the Turkish warhorse in 1482 could signal larger political and social tensions, but is also indicative of the ways horses were used in constituting political dependencies. Furthermore, horses could be used as a testing ground for understanding the nature of political relations. For instance, it has been suggested that Lorenzo’s request in 1478 for a loan of jousting horses to the rulers of Piombino and Forlì had little to do with the actual need of horses, but were rather a criterion for investigating their political attitude towards the Medici and Florence, significantly during the hostilities that followed the Pazzi Conspiracy.162 The gift of horses is also connected to the public horse race known as the palio. The palio like many early modern public rituals was an event where civic identity and personal prestige were confronted and negotiated. Prestige and honour could be bestowed in many ways –​for the rider who successfully won a race but equally for the horse’s owner. In addition, it was prestigious to have one’s horse partake in another city’s palio, and would thus establish a reputation in another city. The palio however was also a site of political tensions and sometimes revealed latent hostilities. One particularly instructive example of the political dimension of horseracing is the palio of Siena in the 1480s. Siena occupied an uncertain position between various ruling powers, and was therefore a crucial race for foreign leaders to compete in. Lorenzo was very eager to participate in the Assumption palio in August 1480 in Siena, where Alfonso d’Aragona had profited from a pro-​Neapolitan coup in April of that year and where the fate of the ceded Florentine lands was to be decided. In addition, those who partook in organising the race were influential diplomatic figures and competing in the palio was a way for Lorenzo to re-​establish himself in the city.163 The exchange of horses as gifts or loans thus constituted political and social networks between influential individuals, and can be compared to other gift giving and exchange practices that have been fruitful theoretical models in anthropology, such as ‘tournaments of value’  –​periodic events where participation is usually restricted to those in positions of privilege and that constitute a form of contest or assertion of prestige, power, and even cultural capital.164 Gifthorses and horseracing can be categorised as tournaments of value, as should the gifting and displaying of antiquities during the Renaissance because both activities constitute certain forms of association, prestige, power, and knowledge. The circulation of things between courts created memories, developed social distinction, and instituted strategic alliances. The value of the horse’s head lies not only in the fact that it was an object that partook in symbolic exchanges, but that it was a representation of a symbolic object –​a work

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of art, and a colossal one at that. In its iconography, it alluded to the exchange of live horses, as well as performing the various symbolic meanings equestrian statues engendered, from male status and power to the foundation myths of Naples. Annette Weiner has re-​evaluated anthropological studies of reciprocity and has highlighted the paradox of ‘keeping-​while-​giving.’ Her term ‘inalienable possessions’ complicates exchange theory by articulating the ways an object becomes meaningful through its ‘cumulative identity’ as it passes through a series of owners and how ‘its history is authenticated by fictive or true genealogies [and] origin myths.’165 In this sense, Lorenzo and Diomede both gain prestige through the gift. The placement of the sculpture in the Carafa courtyard became a mnemonic device, a reminder of the exchange between Diomede and Lorenzo. But the statue also points to the alienability of objects over time as stories or textual accounts fade and their relationship to their givers or receivers become detached. It is evident that the tie to Lorenzo as the giver was lost by the sixteenth century, when stories about the origins of the horse became embedded in the history of Naples rather than connected to the merchant banker. It might even be said that Carafa’s identity became obliterated by the statue, exemplified by Bulifon’s print that references Diomede’s palace as the ‘Palace of the Bronze Horse’ rather than an association with the family.The horse’s head also demonstrates how signification can shift and alter over time but also how new meaning can be generated through citation and circulation. In February 1472 Ferrante decided to produce new coinage, which became commonly called ‘cavalli,’ named after the horse depicted on the reverse, with the portrait of Ferrante on the obverse (Figures 5 and 6).166 The equine depicted on the coin was an unreined horse, with the motto EQUITAS REGNI, stressing Ferrante’s just rule, but also alluding to the history of the horse that was bridled by Corrado’s tyranny.167 Ferrante’s own succession to the throne had been threatened by the barons’ revolt and alliance with the Angevins, which culminated in the Aragonese victory at the Battle of Ischia in 1465. The Baron’s Revolt of 1485–​87 was also blamed on Ferrante and his son Alfonso’s tyrannical policies.168 As an emblem of the city, the horse had featured prominently on Neapolitan coins in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but already in the Roman period, a horse’s head was featured on coins in the Campania region.169 This new coin was thus a symbol of Aragonese legitimation linking their rule to the history of the city, and by depicting a reinless horse, Ferrante was suggesting that his rule provided freedom to the people, and subverted any tyrannical undercurrents. However, Ferrante’s policies and power assertion never stray far from Carafa’s own legitimation of power. What is most telling is a letter written by Ferrante to the officials of the royal camera from 16 February 1472, indicating that it was Diomede Carafa who had suggested depicting the horse on

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5.  Cavalli coin (obverse, portrait of Ferrante) issued under Ferrante d’Aragona, copper, fifteenth century. Photo: © Trustees of the British Museum. BM 1870,0507.8161.

6.  Cavalli coin (obverse, horse) issued under Ferrante d’Aragona, copper, fifteenth century. Photo: © Trustees of the British Museum. BM 1870,0507.8161.

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the reverse of the coin.170 Ferrante in the letter, as Arturo Sambon discovered, ordered the officials to issue the coins in the style of antique ‘medaglie,’ with his portrait on the obverse and the ‘worthy thing’ suggested by Diomede Carafa on the reverse. This ‘worthy thing’ was the horse accompanied by the motto EQUITAS REGNI, which plays on the word equus, a suitable pun for a humanist like Carafa to have devised. The letter also reveals the control Diomede had over the institution of the coin, as instructions are given twice to follow ‘as the Count of Maddaloni sees fit.’171 We know that Diomede already had the bronze horse’s head in place in his courtyard by July 1471, so he must have suggested to Ferrante soon afterwards that the equestrian symbol would be a suitable image for the coin. Already an emblem for the two prominent seggi of Naples, and specifically the Seggio of Nido, in which Diomede’s palace was erected, his suggestion to put the equine on the back of the new Neapolitan mint aligned Diomede, his family, and his palazzo with the institution of the coin. Although horses were not an uncommon motif in the early modern period, featuring prominently in equestrian statue iconography and also often on coins and medals, Carafa’s suggestion can still be seen as closely tied with the sculpture given by Lorenzo. It should be noted that the horse featured on the back of Ferrante’s coin is a full body of a horse and not a fragmentary head; any link to Carafa is thus not overt. As the horse on the coin referenced the city’s history and Aragonese rule, it might have also reminded viewers of the new horse’s head prominently displayed in Carafa’s courtyard. Rather than viewing the horse on the coin as an explicit reference to Carafa, then, it should be seen as contributing to symbolism of the equine in Naples and how Carafa’s horse’s head was perceived within the larger connotations of equestrian iconography. The naming of the coin as cavalli, zoomorphicised a monetary value, providing a further connection between the equestrian symbol and signs of wealth and prestige. Aragonese legitimacy, Neapolitan identity, and Diomede Carafa’s own political and social prestige were thus all associated with the symbol of the equine. THE HORSE’S HEAD AND THE CULTURE OF COLLECTING

Neither Diomede nor Lorenzo were heads of state. They were important diplomatic players in the games of peninsular politics, but both obtained their powerful roles through careful manoeuvring.As has been shown, it was through the delicate giving or accepting of gifts, and the amicizie that were formed through letter writing and gift giving that gained them political prestige and power. But the gifts chosen and the timing of their proffering were learned skills and have very much to do with the culture of collecting and display, intrinsically linked to the politics of knowledge. The gift of the horse’s head and the procurement of other antiquities for Diomede are clear indications that

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Lorenzo knew what would be suitable for an individual like Carafa. Instead of a live horse, which would have underlined his military and cavalleresque qualities, Lorenzo’s gift of a bronze horse’s head, stressed Diomede’s knowledge of antiquities and his reputation as a collector, yet still alluding to the valour and prestige embodied in the equine. In the words of Manuel Chrysoloras, the fourteenth-​century Byzantine humanist who travelled to Rome, ‘many people would willingly have given many living and faultless horses to have one stone horse by Phidias or Praxiteles, even if this happened to be broken or mutilated. And the beauties of statues and paintings are not an unworthy thing to behold; rather do they indicate a certain nobility in the intellect that admires them.’172 Diomede’s thank you letter to Lorenzo de’ Medici clearly states the prestige bestowed by the gift of the horse’s head, as well as Carafa’s understanding of the need to publicly display the statue. Diomede remarks in the letter that he has placed it well in his house, whereby it can be viewed from every angle.173 The horse was not the only statue or fragment in the Carafa courtyard, but belonged to a wide-​ranging collection of antiquities, many of which Diomede had procured himself from local ruins.174 Diomede’s palace was an early modern museum: ancient busts were built into the exterior walls; spoliated columns supported the cortile; busts of pagan emperors, ancient sculpture, epigraphs, and the famous horse’s head occupied prominent places in the courtyard; and sculpture, medals, gems, modern art objects, and paintings filled the interior rooms and studiolo (Figure 4).175 The collection was discussed, as was the horse’s head, throughout the centuries, being compared by Johann Fichard in 1536 to one of the most important early collections in Rome, that of the Palazzo della Valle.176 Diomede’s collection was formed of varied items he received as gifts, while many of the antiquities were pillaged from the Temple of Neptune in Pozzuoli, now part of the church of San Francesco. Diomede founded the diocese of San Francesco and acquired the lands in 1472 through the intercession of his cousin Tommaso Carafa, who was the archbishop of Pozzuoli, and thus found many antiquities on his property.177 The Neapolitan palace became a depository for Carafa’s collections, the seat of the lineage, and also a political locus, containing the office of the scrivano di razione. It thus acted as a material signifier of the Carafa lineage, but also spoke to Carafa’s political allegiance to the Aragonese. Carafa had the reputation of a staunch supporter of the Aragonese, but this reputation was reiterated, if not largely created, by Diomede. The inscription on the cornice of the entrance portal to Carafa’s palazzo declares his wish to honour Ferrante and his patria, followed by the title of Count of Maddaloni.178 In addition to other inscriptions, the palace is adorned with the Carafa arms and imprese as well as the Aragonese arms and Ferrante’s own devices on the façade, courtyard, and doors.179 Early modern collecting and the spaces of collections had links to larger epistemological discourses and the construction of knowledge.180 It is through

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the ordering of things and the accumulation of artefacts wrought from diverse materials in collections that the past is manipulated and knowledge is constructed, understood, and legitimated. It was in this vein that heads of state, popes, and prominent families collected and celebrated their collections. The value lay not only in the possession of static objects, however, but through their mobility whether that was through the stories circulating in collecting circles, through their replication across media, or through the exchange of the objects themselves as gifts or loans.181 The slippery nature of some objects –​ whether they were truly ancient or all’antica –​only added to the display of connoisseurship: active engagement with the object prompted efforts to discern its true provenance. The sculpture provides a venue for the legitimation and testing of knowledge (today as in the fifteenth century), in discerning whether it is an antiquity or an all’antica work and contributing to the querelle des anciens et des modernes.182 The sheer size of the horse must also be considered as part of its material value as a gift and then as a collector’s item. It is not a small intimate cameo or even a miniature bronze equestrian statue, which would be found in the studiolo or in more interior spaces of the palazzo. The colossal size, its bronze medium, and its placement within the courtyard of the Palazzo Carafa turns a private statue into a public monument, an object whose visibility and status generates discussion and forms of association. The gift of the horse’s head thus becomes a public statement, a gift that fosters new possibilities for viewership and engagement. Anonymous viewers would have obtained glimpses of the statue through the open doors of the palazzo, whether they were participating in a passeggiata down the street or whether they were visitors who had come to see the statue specifically. Political leaders, diplomats, ambassadors, members of the court, and friends of the Carafa family would have had a closer engagement with the statue. Even if they merely passed the bust on their way into the inner sanctum of the Palazzo Carafa, its colossal form and its prominent placement would have commanded an engagement with it. As part of the urban fabric of the city, the horse’s head became linked to myth making and the history of Naples, and as is characteristic of public statuary, it promoted viewers’ participation in that history making.183 The numerous sources that talk about the statue, as well as the references across media, demonstrate that many would have had a significant connection with the horse’s head. It solicited, as it still solicits today, much attention and interest, taking an identity of its own, separate from Carafa, and yet always somehow connected to him. Beholding antique fragments, whether as collector, observer, artist, or re-​ inventor of antiquity, was a form of possession.184 Artistic production, appreciation, and invention in the Renaissance became centred around these fragments, as Leonard Barkan has demonstrated so forcefully; Renaissance viewers hoped to enter the past through its breaks and fissures.185 Carafa’s

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palace was largely made out of spolia, fragments put together to construct something new for the present, while providing Carafa and his family with historic links to the city and the neighbourhood. The horse’s head thus found a comfortable home in Carafa’s palace courtyard; however, it was also significant in its ability to knit together larger textual and visual histories. Decipherment, for Barkan, was an essential hermeneutical tool for reading visual imagery in the Renaissance and was closely associated with decoding narrative, but was it not also a starting point for new narratives?186 The horse’s head was and is embroiled in numerous tales connected to the historical foundations of Naples; the diplomatic negotiations between Florence and Naples; and the commissioning and/​or discovery of works of art. These narratives are multifaceted and can be linked to the tradition of speaking statues, whereby Renaissance viewers sought to complete a fragment or continue a conversation with the past by giving voice to a statue that went beyond the paragone tradition. It is significant that some of the first known statuary epigrams appeared in Naples at the court of Alfonso d’Aragona, where a statue of Parthenope ignited the imagination of Alfonso’s humanist circle. Similarly, the most famous of speaking statues in Rome, Pasquino, became the site of numerous poetic offerings and an annual ritual in the subsequent century, and belonged to none other than a relative of Diomede’s, Cardinal Oliviero Carafa.187 I am not arguing that the horse’s head was a speaking statue, but I do want to underline the ways in which the diverse narratives enlivened the fragment, similar to the way in which the Bulifon print depicts a lively horse ready to engage with us, the reader of Sarnelli’s text (Figure  4). We become simultaneously the viewer of the palazzo and the reader of the book, providing a conflation of time and space. It is the material qualities of the statue as well as its status as a fragment that make it a suitable gift and an object of display, as well as the site for stories. THE AGENCY OF THE THING GIVEN: CONCLUSION

Returning to the question posed by Mauss concerning the force of the thing given, I would like to reiterate that the horse’s head should be seen as an active player in gift exchange, which is undoubtedly tied to its larger role in political partnerships. The bronze statue was not only a material signifier of political relations, it created memories of association and partnership. Ronald Weissman has observed that during the early modern period individuals sought to engage with family, friends, or patronage networks, and when this was unobtainable, one looked to convert ‘all necessary contacts with strangers into ties of obligation, gratitude, and reciprocity.’188 The case of the horse’s head demonstrates how ties of obligation and reciprocity were constituted by material things, in

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this instance, a gift. This particular statue can be interpreted as a diplomatic manoeuvre by Lorenzo, but it constituted a series of political dependencies, obligations, and reciprocities. In the exchange of the horse’s head, it is not only the people that give the thing value, but the thing itself that brings value and prestige to the giver and receiver.This chapter has sought to get at the heart of why a bronze fragmented statue in the form of a bust of a horse is deemed an appropriate diplomatic gift between two individuals heavily involved in politics on the Italian peninsula. Why is that specific horse prominently displayed in that palace courtyard, and why does it elicit so much discussion? It is because certain objects –​in their iconography, their form, their provenance  –​are particularly salient but also ambiguous. That is, the value of the horse is embedded in its very paradox –​a fragment whose precise significance in exchange lies in its ability to convey complex political and social messages, while its status as a collector’s object and public monument leaves the viewer confounded over its origins. The enigmatic nature of the horse’s head –​its uncertain provenance, its reference to a body of equestrian iconography, its fragmented form –​makes the object particularly resonant. Artefacts and gifts are both stable and unstable and meaning and value shift according to context. But it would be anachronistic to suggest that gifts are simply binding forces in pre-​modern societies; as the horse’s head has shown, it was in a moment of intense disorder and mistrust that the object was given.189 Exploring the possibilities of the sculpture as gift has, however, underlined its status as an ‘actant’ within the complex diplomatic relationships between Naples and Florence. Anthropological concerns around exchangeability and inalienability complemented with ANT have provided the starting point to understand the role the object played in fifteenth-​century courtly networks. But the close analysis of the object on an art historical level has revealed how paying particular attention to the materiality and iconography of the object contributes to a more nuanced reading of the statue.The value of the object in exchange as a diplomatic gift in the 1470s was defined by the giver Lorenzo de’ Medici and the receiver Diomede Carafa.The horse’s head distinguished both Lorenzo and Diomede as political arbitrators and astute diplomats; it established both men as collectors, antiquarians, and learned individuals in the circle of humanists; it pushed them into the circle of gift-​g iving rituals between heads of state; furthermore, it connected the gift with the symbolism of the equine, linked to the prestation, giving, collecting, jousting, and racing of horses. But the link to the giver soon faded over time while the placement of the statue in the Carafa palace ensured the close connection between the recipient Diomede and the statue up to the present day. The statue’s story thus shifted from one connected to diplomacy to that of a collector and the historical urban fabric of Naples. The materiality of

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the statue as a bronze fragment and its particular iconography and the skill of execution have never disappeared and still renders the object valuable, even today. Indeed, it is the very fragmentary nature of the statue, which has allowed for both the alienability of its original status as a gift and its connection to Lorenzo, and for its continuing value as a source of discussion and art historical query. In its muteness, it generated conversation. The numerous inscriptions that accompanied representations of the horse in its various transformations attempted to give voice to the statue, from the original epigram placed by Conrad on the Virgilian equestrian statue and the EQUITAS REGNI inscription on the cavalli coins, to Sarnelli’s print indicating ‘this is the palace of the bronze horse.’190 The various references to the horse throughout the centuries not only elicited narratives in trying to argue for the true history of the horse, but the act of viewing also becomes a narrative:  ‘I saw that statue when I  was in Naples’ and thus the horse becomes intertwined in personal tales of visits to the palace and to Naples. The kaleidoscope of stories connecting the horse to Donatello or to Virgil, to Diomede Carafa and to Lorenzo de’ Medici, to Vasari and Goethe, not only signal our need to contribute to that story, but perhaps most importantly, that whatever story tells the true provenance of the statue, our viewership of, and engagement with the horse’s head is always bound up in the multiple stories that it once generated. The horse’s head serves as a point of interest for a wide range of individuals across centuries through references across media and print: for those who exchanged it, but also for admirers on the street and visitors to the palace as well as for influential figures such as Vasari, Winckelmann, and Goethe, and of course, their readers. The horse’s head played a role in public making, generating its own proto-​ public, fostering interest in its incomplete and fragmented, yet lively and engaging form.

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TWO

PRACTICES OF EXCHANGE: MERCHANT BANKERS AND THE CIRCULATION OF OBJECTS

INTRODUCTION

In April 1473, Marco Parenti wrote from Florence to his brother-​in-​law, the merchant banker Filippo Strozzi, regarding a large lettuccio (daybed or settle) that Filippo had commissioned as a gift to King Ferrante d’Aragona of Naples: Benedetto [da Maiano], maestro of the lettuccio, left yesterday for Rome [en route to Naples]. He has already applied 300 pieces of gold to gild [it], but I’m not sure it’ll be enough. He assembled [and displayed] it these last few days in his shop [in Florence], without saying anything to me, and everyone leaving from the sermon saw it, and it was noted […] that you were making it for the King [of Naples]: No one could determine if it was by your commission or by the order [of the king]. It was esteemed a beautiful thing and was much admired by everyone who saw it; those [versed] in the arts as well as [regular] citizens. [Giovanni Bonsi] and [Alessandra Macinghi Strozzi] returned more than once to see it, because they admired it greatly; and those [familiar with the shop] say that these things are made to great perfection there, and all in all it was highly praised. Even if Pierfrancesco [de Medici]’s [lettuccio] cost 200 fiorini larghi and […] the cornice decoration on his is prettier, I don’t think the body [with the representation of Naples] is.1

As a gift from a republican merchant banker to a courtly ruler, the lettuccio highlights the multiple ways objects in the fifteenth century brought diverse individuals together. Made and displayed in the famous workshop of the 59

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da Maiano brothers in Florence, the lettuccio, as Marco states, attracted the attention of many. Such a large gift recalls other structurally grand offerings from Florentine merchant bankers to the court of Naples, such as Filippo Lippi’s altarpiece gifted to King Alfonso d’Aragona by Giovanni de’ Medici in the late 1450s, or as examined in the previous chapter, the colossal horse’s head proffered to Diomede Carafa from Lorenzo de’ Medici. The especially large form of the lettuccio and its function as a daybed asked viewers to engage with it in a particular way –​whether in the workshop or the casa –​that emphasises the need to pay specific attention to the forms, materials, and functions of objects. Indeed, as argued in the previous chapter, it is often something in the thing itself –​its material, its form, its cultural value –​which is the cause of its movement, and such trajectories often illuminate the object’s political and social potential. This chapter examines the dynamic practices of merchant bankers, which facilitated the movement of a wide range of objects from daybeds to jewels. The transferral of a large piece of furniture such as a lettuccio was one-​directional, yet it required a number of individuals to facilitate its transport to Naples, while more portable objects, such as small gems and jewels also examined in this chapter, brought together artists, merchants, agents, and collectors through their constant circulation. The literature on early modern merchant bankers has generally followed two trajectories. One side of the scholarship has been largely focussed on economics, providing a quantitative analysis of items, prices, supply, and demand.2 The other trajectory has focussed on the cultural pursuits of merchant families, such as the famous Florentine merchant banking houses of the Medici or Strozzi, examining artistic patronage and its cultural products in terms of family chapels and palaces.3 Little attention has been paid to the heterogeneous identities of merchant bankers, not only as intermediaries in the circulation of goods, but as collectors, ambassadors, negotiators, and pawnbrokers. Working across Italy and further afield in Europe, merchants navigated diverse forms of government, resulting in a paradoxical status often performing the role of ‘courtiers’ abroad and republican citizens at home. Most importantly, what has been largely neglected is how their negotiation of these roles (their function as ‘double agents’ to use Keblusek’s term)4 was intricately connected to the movement of objects, which created a web of connections, obligations, and associations. As this chapter argues, starting with the objects and the practices of exchange reveals interconnections across boundaries and geographic spaces, an approach that moves away from the traditional focus of select sites such as Republican Florence or a specific courtly setting. Attention is thus paid to particular objects and their material forms as well as the dynamic relations formed through the circulation of objects facilitated by merchant bankers in the purchasing of goods, transferal of objects, pawning of possessions, and circulation of material things.

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Recent studies on consumption practices and the early modern economy have proliferated in recent years, no doubt influenced by contemporary economic predicaments and globalisation. Work by Lisa Jardine and Evelyn Welch, for example, have broadened our understanding of the social components of consumerism, looking at what it meant to shop and purchase objects in the early modern period.5 Similar studies have pinpointed the culmination of goods in the Renaissance as the beginning of the history of consumerism and materialism, and have gone so far as celebrating this period as the birth of modern capitalism.6 More recent interests in gifting practices have provided an alternative approach, underlining the role of the gift as a binding force, in contrast to an individualistic economy.7 But late-​ fifteenth-​century consumption practices have to be studied on their own terms, functioning within a dual economy of gifts and commerce. In the fifteenth century, these two systems sometimes worked together, sometimes came up against each other in conflict, but undoubtedly influenced each other.8 Possessions were often transient, and status and reputation depended on one’s ability to negotiate the circulation of one’s goods, through the careful balance of pawning, credit, and gifting. Reputation and status, as this chapter argues, was thus not only about possession but also the dispersal of goods. Credit was a common custom in the early modern period, and many transactions were conducted with a promise to pay, or with a credit secured with one’s belongings, often an object of similar value used as a pledge. As Welch has noted, early modern objects should be seen as stores of value, whereby most items  –​from handkerchiefs to jewels to books  –​could be offered as pledges.9 Purchasing objects, then, often involved the exchanging of one item for another, and introduced different objects to different individuals on a regular basis. Pawning was another common activity across all social scales, from the pawning of clothing to the pawning of jewels and court libraries. Much of the nobility across Italy pledged their jewels as security for loans, sometimes only for a few days, while others for months or even years on end. The institution of pawning had rules, which varied from city to city, but in general, the pawned object was used as a pledge for a sum, which was to be repaid with interest. When the sum was repaid, the objects would then be returned to the rightful owners. However, frequently, the money loaned could not be repaid and the pawnbroker was required to give notice to the owner of the object that his or her objects would soon be the lender’s possessions. There was usually a grace period of a month or so that followed, and if the loan remained unpaid, these objects were then the property of the pawnbroker, who was free to do what he wanted with the goods. Individuals who could not repay their loans lost a certain respectability and often lost their ability to borrow, branded as uncreditworthy.10

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The close association between identity and credit is evident in sixteenth-​ century legal proceedings in England where the credibility of witnesses in giving evidence in court was linked to their economic credibility.11 Indeed, the words credit and credence in a variety of European languages have semantic links to the concepts of belief, faith, and authority, and were closely tied to reputation. These close associations were still evident in the 1680s, when Antoine Furetière’s dictionary provided three definitions of credit:  the first related to reputation and character, the second to political and financial power, and the third to loans between merchants. The activities involved in credit and pawning thus went beyond the mere economic act and carried the onerous weight of reputation. Furetière’s elaboration of his second and third definitions holds particular resonance for the case studies in this chapter. In his second category crédit, could mean one’s influence over the mind of the prince and in the third, the financial ruin of merchants when they lent too much money to seigneurial lords who could never afford to repay.12 Fifteenth-​century merchant bankers often lent large sums of money to court rulers, and as will be demonstrated in this chapter, this was not usually for financial gain but for the possible privileges it could provide. There was, however, always an element of risk in these ventures, both for the lender and the borrower. In the fifteenth century, the value of objects was not strictly monetary, and many objects carried conflicting identities, comprising economic value as well as cultural value. Because magnificence, liberality, and splendour were underlying themes of cultural display and consumption during this time, individuals were more prone to invest any cash they might have in cultural objects, which could then be pawned or put up for credit when needed.13 This demonstrates a paradox around the relationship between acquisition of virtue through objects and their subsequent dispersal. There was also, of course, a practical side to pawning and pledging, because individuals did not have private bank accounts, they sought to put the liquid cash they had in more cultural investments, such as clothing, jewels, and the decoration of their houses. The liquid potential of objects, however, placed a precariousness on their very possession, an anxiety that can be identified by the marks of ownership on many of the objects studied here. If one’s identity was bound up in the objects one possessed, what happened when one had to sell those very possessions off or put them on loan? This chapter begins by looking at the Florentine merchant banking firms of the Strozzi, Medici, and Gondi, exploring the multifaceted roles these bankers played and the diversity of their clients. A  closer look at particular types of objects –​ from lettucci to gems –​reveals that merchant bankers facilitated their movement and thus their demand in centres across Italy.The Florentine lettuccio is taken as a case study, an extremely large piece of furniture that was shipped from Florence to Naples, as popularity for the daybed grew. Focus then shifts from furniture to the circulation of small gems and jewellery, which were

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sought after, not only for their material or artistic qualities, but also for their histories, provenances, and previous illustrious owners. Used as collateral, many objects could be pawned or given as credit, but unlike money, objects were, and are, absorbent of meaning and memories, thus not only forging bonds between those who come in contact with them, but also bringing about hostilities and complications. Aside from their physical circulation, these collectibles were disseminated through replications  –​from plaquettes to manuscript illumination  –​which stresses the importance of intermediality, creating a field of visual citations and associations across media.14 The chapter examines how this process, not only circulated the fame of the objects, but such representations also served as a means to stabilise the loose and circulatory nature of the objects themselves, allowing individuals to own copies of these transient possessions. Chapter 2 thus examines how diverse media, people, and paths came together through the practices of exchange. FLORENTINE AND NEAPOLITAN NETWORKS: MERCHANTS, CLIENTS, AND THE COURTS

Numerous individuals came together around the circulation of goods, facilitated by merchant bankers, which included the producers and consumers, but also the caretakers, packers, and transporters. The clients of merchant bankers in Naples included dukes, duchesses, kings, queens, counts, and barons, while individuals hired by the court such as guardarobieri, secretaries, ambassadors, and servants were often involved in procuring, receiving, storing, or maintaining goods. In addition, there was a series of intermediaries in the process of moving objects, and this could include various individuals ranging from those who packed and shipped the goods, customs agents who recorded duties, to operators of ships carrying goods overseas or of carriages overland. Indeed, as Arnold Esch notes in his study on Roman custom registers from 1470 to 1480, ‘the statues, inkwells, decorative vessels of precious metal, dainty candelabra and caskets that surrounded […] cardinals in their studies’ and appear in representations of saints ‘are the same objects that the customs official held in his hand, examined and evaluated, and upon which he conferred a name.’15 As is evident from the excerpt from Marco Parenti’s letter that began this chapter, artists and the makers of the objects were, of course, also directly involved with the artefacts and sometimes even accompanied them. Modes of engagement depended upon size and the particular material form, as in the case of the lettuccio, where Benedetto da Maiano travelled to Naples to put the final touches on the daybed for the king. There were also varied viewers, as Marco’s letter notes, such as the anonymous passersby during the production stage or the guests, visitors, and owners who might use the daybed when placed in the home.

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Florentine Merchant Bankers in Naples Trading if on a small scale, should be considered a vulgar thing; if, however, it is on a grand scale, importing many things from different parts of the world and distributing them without fraud to all, then it should not be despised. Indeed it seems worthy of praise, if those who undertake it, once they are satisfied with the fortunes they have made retire from the ports to their lands in the countryside.16 –​Tomas Garzoni’s sixteenth-​century rephrasing of Cicero

The presence of foreign merchants and bankers operating in the Neapolitan kingdom had been facilitated by King Alfonso I d’Aragona’s favourable policies towards foreign trade, and this practice was continued under his son and successor, King Ferrante.17 While this chapter takes Florentine merchant bankers as a case study, it should be underlined that these were certainly not the only merchants present in the kingdom, as Genoese, Pisans, Sienese, and Catalans were also integral to trade relations. Ferrante’s policies furthered Alfonso’s, as he continually sought to abolish export taxes on raw materials and granted individual tax exemptions to particular merchants.18 There were a number of Florentine companies engaged in trade and banking with the Neapolitan court at the end of the fifteenth century, including the firms of the Spannochi, Nacci (Medici), di Gaeta, Strozzi, and Gondi.19 While these companies served the crown, records show that the Aragonese only constituted part of their clientele, which included merchants, barons, and the nobility.20 The circulation of goods and money, then, was not restricted to the king and his court, but involved a wider clientele and thus broader areas of exchange.21 The Florentine merchant banking companies of the Strozzi, the Gondi, and the Medici will be the main focus here, offering examples of a wide range of types of goods exchanged and illuminating overlapping social, political, and economic ties. The economic dependencies of these banks’ clients were often intricately bound up with political motivations. Within these relations, objects could often cause or become the site of tension and conflict, while they were also the locations of contact within these larger networks. The term merchant banker is usually used to reference individuals who were involved in trade, but also in transactions dealing with large quantities of money. In the period, mercante was often applied to those who were involved in transactions that we would associate today with banking. Frederic Lane and Reinhold Mueller have distinguished three types of individuals dealing with money: international bankers, pawnbrokers, and local deposit bankers; however these were often interchangeable, and in the case of Florentine bankers who worked with the Neapolitan court, this diversification was certainly the case.22 Furthermore, many firms acted in the capacity as merchants and sometimes

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this was their primary business, whereby credit, pawning, and loans were secondary, and often linked to their business transactions in goods. Merchant bankers could often serve in diplomatic roles too. Indeed, their multiple roles point to the fluidity of such categories at a time when some have argued the ‘new diplomacy’ had begun to stabilise those very roles, as evidenced in the position of the resident ambassador, for example.23 The Strozzi Filippo Strozzi became one of the main bankers serving the Neapolitan crown in the second half of the fifteenth century. The Strozzi family had been exiled from Florence in the 1430s due to anti-​Medicean sentiment stemming from one branch of the family. Upon the death of his father, Filippo Strozzi, not yet thirteen, took on the responsibility of providing for his family and regaining the family’s prosperity. Filippo had family relations who were involved in business ventures internationally in Spain, Bruges, Rome, and Naples. In 1447 Filippo moved down to Naples from Spain to work with his cousin, Niccolò di Leonardo Strozzi, and in 1461, his brother Lorenzo joined him from Bruges. Although he continued to be an exile from Florence, Filippo became a correspondent for the Medici in 1455, while continuing to work under his cousin, Niccolò Strozzi. When Niccolò left Naples for Rome in the early 1460s, Lorenzo and Filippo took the opportunity to branch out on their own, and on 28 January 1463, King Ferrante conceded to Filippo Strozzi and his agents the rights to conduct business in the kingdom.24 Filippo’s relations with the Aragonese served him well. Not only did Filippo’s business in Naples  –​the establishment of a bank and fondaco  –​earn great revenues, but he was granted the title of councillor of state, and it was Ferrante who negotiated Filippo’s repatriation to Florence. On 13 September 1466 Ferrante wrote to Lorenzo de’ Medici urging him to allow Filippo to return to Florence.25 Ferrante also arranged for his son, Don Federico, to negotiate with Piero de’ Medici on the part of the Strozzi, when Federico was passing through Florence for the wedding celebrations of Duchess Ippolita Sforza and Duke Alfonso d’Aragona.26 On 20 September 1466, the Florentine magistrate council of the Otto di Guardia lifted the ban on many exiled Florentines, including the Strozzi and on 30 November 1466, Filippo returned to Florence. While Filippo established himself in Florence, his brother Lorenzo remained in Naples and together they opened a branch in Florence in 1470 and later a branch in Rome in 1482.27 Although Filippo was now based in Florence, he still carried out commissions and loans for the Neapolitan crown and the south continued to be a great source of revenue for the Strozzi Bank. Filippo was also still heavily involved with the Aragonese, travelling down to Naples throughout the 1470s. Ironically, Filippo, once an exiled Florentine, was given the role of intermediary between Florence and Naples following the Pazzi

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Conspiracy and he was asked to accompany Lorenzo de’ Medici to Naples in 1478, underlining his dual political and economic roles.28 Correspondence in the Strozzi Archives in Florence reveals Filippo maintained close relations with many ruling families across Italy, including the Aragonese, suggesting that his business formed both mercantile as well as more personal relations with a broad spectrum of people.29 As a banker, Filippo Strozzi provided quick capital for the crown, furnished loans, and supplied credit for pawns and bills of exchange for larger payments. In his capacity as a merchant, Filippo purchased various luxury objects in Florence and shipped them to the Neapolitan court and he also arranged for Florentine artists to travel to Naples and work there. Throughout his life, Filippo was an important contact for books shipped from Florence to Naples. While Naples had a set of resident court humanists, scribes, and illuminators and there are frequent payments to these individuals in the accounts, the Neapolitan court still sought to purchase and commission books outside of Naples, notably from Florence.30 Books for Neapolitan clients such as the court secretary Antonello Petrucci, Ferrante’s ambassador Marino Tomacello, and the humanist, court counsellor and secretary, Giovanni Pontano were largely obtained through the Florentine bookseller Vespasiano da Bisticci.31 Merchant bankers were not merely pawns or disinterested intermediaries for the flow of material goods, they also contributed to the taste for these items, as they actively purchased many for themselves. For instance, Filippo is recorded purchasing an assortment of books for his own collections, some directly from Vespasiano, ranging from texts on ancient history and contemporary histories of Florence and Italy to Psalms and the Gospels.32 His purchases from Vespasiano also strengthened relations with the bookseller and in the late 1480s Vespasiano gave Filippo a collection of the lives of four Strozzi family members, which included a foreword to Filippo.33 Thus, while living between Florence and Naples, within a span of twenty years, Filippo went from Florentine exile to political representative, and performed the numerous roles of banker, lender, councillor, courtier, taste maker, and ambassador. In addition to the lettuccio sent to King Ferrante, Filippo recorded sending numerous gifts to ‘friends’ in Naples (‘choxe donare a napolj a amicj di casa’) in 1473. The list of gifts, first published by Mario del Treppo, appears in one of Filippo Strozzi’s account books, which records credits and debits, as well as more personal notes and details, similar to the personal observations found in Florentine ricordanze.34 Particularly striking is the way he characterises the gifts’ recipients as ‘amicj di casa’ articulating these are friends of the Strozzi family, rather than business relations. Filippo might have been deliberately referencing Cicero’s discussion of liberality, where the great orator discusses the role of amici and nostros (clients) as recipients of gifts, noting how their sons and

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grandsons would keep alive the memory of the gift.35 Ricordanze, while taking the form of a personal diary, were of course more public in their style of rhetoric, written with the assumption that they would be passed on and read by future generations.36 Calling the King of Naples a friend certainly speaks to social aspirations, but such a speech act also points to the multifaceted roles Filippo performed and suggests a dual identity  –​a sense of belonging as a member of the Neapolitan court (one might even say a form of courtier), even though he had returned to Florence and was now a citizen of that republic. The act of giving, however, is never disinterested and Filippo’s attention to the gifts among ‘friends’ underlines an inherent contradiction in gift giving, as Cecily Hilsdale has articulated: gifts as ‘freely given’ with lack of ‘self-​interest’ as a sign of friendship and gifts as ‘deeply imbued with agendas of hierarchy and reciprocity.’37 If such a gift list had been found among Lorenzo de’ Medici’s papers, the diplomatic context would likely have been highlighted in the secondary literature. While Filippo Strozzi did not hold the same diplomatic position as Lorenzo, his involvement in numerous political negotiations between Florence and Naples certainly indicates a political and diplomatic framework for the gifts. The list reveals an incredibly wide range of individuals –​the king and his children, as well as humanists, advisors, secretaries, and merchants. The variety of individuals bestowed with offerings suggests that such a list does not solely speak to diplomacy, but rather, to the overlapping spheres of economics, politics, and social prestige. It is not just the act but the types of gifts that are telling, many of which suggest Filippo Strozzi knew the recipients and had spent some time considering their appropriateness. The lettuccio, as will be discussed further, certainly required a substantial amount of time and planning reflecting the status of the giver as much as the receiver.The organisation of the document is also striking, indicating not only royal status but also presumably Filippo’s political and personal relationship with those listed. Gifts to King Ferrante, as would be expected, are the first recorded, which included a variety of Florentine foodstuff in addition to the lettuccio. The next recipient is not a member of the royal family but Diomede Carafa, the Count of Maddaloni, who was given two ‘marble heads,’ presumably antiquities, two painted Flemish cloths, as well as a painting of Saint Francis by ‘Rugiero,’ generally accepted to be by Rogier van der Weyden.38 These gifts were particularly appropriate for Diomede, a collector of antiquities and art connoisseur, and the recent recipient of a colossal horse’s head from Lorenzo de’ Medici as discussed in Chapter 1. Diomede’s position as second on the list certainly reflects his reputation as a ‘second king’ in diplomatic circles.39 Following Diomede is another non-​ Aragonese, Orso Orsini, Duke of Ascoli and Count of Nola, who received one marble head ‘in perfezione’ (presumably not damaged or broken) which cost 5 florins.40 After Orso Orsini, gifts

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to the king’s sons are recorded: Alfonso, Duke of Calabria, Don Federico, and Don Giovanni. The former two received the same gift of a chess set in ivory as well as foodstuff (each chess set costing 12 florins), while the latter received only foodstuff.41 Strangely absent from the list is Ippolita Sforza, Duchess of Calabria, who was a client of Strozzi’s, however her sister-​in-​ law, Ferrante’s daughter, Eleonora d’Aragona (soon to be the Duchess of Ferrara), received a mirror, with the reflecting plate made of polished steel in a wooden frame with her arms carved in intarsia (valued at 14 florins).42 The gift of the mirror would have given Eleonora something to take with her to Ferrara, and may have been strategic on Filippo’s part, as a way to encourage future transactions with the court of Ferrara. Indeed, two years later, on 25 February 1475 Eleonora d’Aragona, now in Ferrara, wrote to Filippo Strozzi in Florence, requesting information on the ‘maestro’ of the mirror he had given her so that she could commission a similar one.43 Eleonora’s list of gifts concludes the entries for the royal family and the account is tallied at this point at 283 florins. The next page consists of less costly things and includes presents for important members of the court. While most of the gifts on this page range in value from 2 to 4 florins, two individuals are singled out to receive higher priced items. Pasquale Diaz Garlon, ‘chastelano’ of the Castel Nuovo and guardarobiere of King Ferrante, who also served under Alfonso I, is the recipient of a tapestry depicting green foliage designs, costing 10 florins. The secretary Antonello Petrucci (later hung by Ferrante for his traitorous alliance with the barons) also received a smaller tapestry with foliage designs. All the other individuals received foodstuff and included secretaries (scrivani di razione), treasurers, counts, barons, Catalan and Tuscan merchants, the famous humanist Giovanni Pontano, and a Bolognese lawyer, among others.44 The total for all the gifts –​both for the royal family and others –​ amounted to the sum of 342 florins. The gift list reveals the wide range of individuals that Filippo Strozzi was acquainted with:  from the king and his children to political advisors and humanists, princes and counts, as well as merchants. Not all the recipients were Neapolitan, but included individuals from across Italy who were based in Naples. It is worth highlighting that many of these individuals hold the titles of ‘scrivano di razione,’ ‘credenziere,’ or ‘tesoriere,’ all positions that involved dealings with the accounts, the movement of merchandise, or the maintenance and upkeep of luxury objects –​people who Filippo came into contact with through the exchange of goods. The Medici and Their Associates The Medici Bank in Naples is an example of a firm founded primarily on political motives rather than financial gain.45 From 1426 to 1471 there

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was no official branch of the Medici Bank in Naples, but the Medici had correspondents based there, such as Filippo Strozzi, Benedetto Guasconi, and Bartolomeo Buonconti.46 The reopening of the bank in 1471 was not as successful as it could have been as the branch dealt with frozen credits in 1475, while in 1478, during the Pazzi War, all Medici property was sequestered to the Neapolitan crown. In the 1480s the Medici Bank operated under the direction of Francesco Nacci and Company, and it is his name that often appears in court records. The Medici Bank was also involved in negotiations around alum in the 1470s, which included a contract between the papacy, Naples, and the Medici.47 Lorenzo de’ Medici also had a more personal relationship in financing the Neapolitan Crown, as he was responsible for funding personal loans to individuals such as Ippolita Sforza, Duchess of Calabria and was often asked to negotiate on her behalf for other loans that she had accrued, further elaborated upon later in this chapter in relation to pawning. In 1483 Lorenzo was nominated ‘camerlengo’ by the king and he also received various concessions on customs duties for the regions of Naples and Puglia.48 Like Filippo Strozzi, Lorenzo was also responsible for artistic exchanges between Florence and Naples. In April 1488 Ferrante asked Lorenzo de’ Medici for a plan of a palace to be sent down to Naples, and later in that year Giuliano da Sangallo accompanied his design of a grand palace.49 It was in this same year that Ferrante and Alfonso d’Aragona were in complicated negotiations with Lorenzo, who was protecting two Catalan merchants who were in a legal dispute over money and pawned items with the Aragonese.50 As will become evident, Lorenzo’s mercantile and political activities often complicated his relations with the Aragonese and provide a useful example of how objects could create complex ties and obligations. The entangled relationship between gifts, politics, and banking was already evident in the generation preceding Lorenzo de’ Medici and King Ferrante. As mentioned, Giovanni de’ Medici commissioned an altarpiece by Filippo Lippi as a diplomatic gift for King Alfonso I d’Aragona (Ferrante’s father) in 1457. The altarpiece was presented to the king through the Florentine envoy Bartolommeo Serragli, who played in important intermediary role as agent for works of art between Florence and Naples. The letters between Serragli and Giovanni de’ Medici, and Lippi and Giovanni, detailing the gift of the altarpiece highlight the multiple individuals involved, beyond the giver and receiver.51 As Caroline Elam has outlined, this gift was offered during a time of tension and apprehension in relations between Naples and Florence, an indicator of the belief in objects to mediate when human relations have soured.52 While the central panel has been lost, the wings still survive, depicting Saints Anthony Abbot (left) and Michael (right). The central panel was an Adoration, discernible in the sketch Lippi included in his letter of 20 July 1457 to Giovanni de’ Medici.53 The presence of lilies in vases, placed on either topside of the

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frame, visible in the drawing, not only makes reference to the Virgin, but also to the Order of the Jar, a knightly order belonging to the Aragonese (further discussed in Chapter 4). The attention to such a detail would not have gone unnoticed by the Aragonese, and likely added a political dimension to the work, while also furthering the uniqueness of the gift. According to the letters, the triptych had been well received by the king and the court, so much so that one courtier, the Count of Anano was keen to have a similar painting commissioned,54 demonstrating the ways in which taste for particular styles or objects could rapidly transfer from one centre to another upon the dispatch of a work of art. The correspondence between Serragli and Giovanni flows seamlessly from discussion of works of art to politics. In a letter from 21 July 1458, written soon after King Alfonso’s death, Giovanni de’ Medici discusses with Serragli the perilous state of affairs in relation to Ferrante’s succession and Pope Calixtus III’s attempt to thwart it, and mentioned the gift of a painting (tavola) to Ferrante. Giovanni states that he would like to thank the king for ‘accepting such a small gift,’ which Francesco Caglioti has suggested is likely Lippi’s triptych presented to the new monarch in hopes of securing diplomatic friendship.55 Unless a rhetorical device, such an altarpiece would not likely be considered a ‘small’ gift, and it may be that the Medici sent an additional work. In any case, it demonstrates the ways in which art mediated, and how the Medici were performing multiple roles –​as diplomats, bankers, purveyors of artistic goods, and de facto rulers. It is also worth noting the role that Bartolommeo Serragli played in these transactions –​in addition to acting as an agent for the Medici and as a representative of Florence in the gift of the altarpiece, he repeatedly appears in documents related to the movement of goods between Florence and Naples throughout the 1450s. He supplied clients including the Neapolitan court with luxury goods as wide-​ranging as textiles and brocades, jewels and precious stones, chess sets, mirrors, and sculpture (both modern and antique) as well as books from Vespasiano da Bisticci. According to Caglioti, Serragli was also responsible for the commissioning of Donatello’s large equestrian statue intended for the arch at the Castel Nuovo, but that was never finished. Serragli’s success as an agent depended on his ability to move between Rome, Florence, and Naples, but also to negotiate his varied clients, who ranged from merchant bankers to artists to the monarchy. The entangled nature of the relationship is evidenced in Cosimo de’ Medici’s desire that Serragli act as his proxy of godfather at the christening of the humanist Panormita’s child.56 Like Strozzi, Serragli was exiled from Florence but returned in 1451 after the ban had been lifted, and two years later in November 1453, he was matriculated in the Arte dei Medici e Speziali (a guild largely composed of artist and artisans). A figure such as Serragli only emerges from the archives because of previous historians’

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interests in the ‘big players’ such as the Medici and Aragonese, yet he represents the intricate and embroiled networks associated with the circulation of goods, and signals the invaluable role such a mediator played. The Gondi The Gondi repeatedly appear in Neapolitan court account books and also in other court records such as Ferrara, yet not much is known about their social and political roles in Italy.57 The Gondi Company appears to have made its fortune in gold, starting as a ‘mestiere dell’oro’ but soon became involved in the import/​export business of textiles.58 Giuliano di Leonardo Gondi worked with many of the courts of Italy and was active in Naples as early as 1452. Giuliano’s brother, Antonio, was responsible for bringing the silk and battiloro industries into Giuliano’s business and the two brothers often worked together. Giuliano Gondi is often noted in records for the Neapolitan court in obtaining various luxury objects from Florence as well as pawning court objects for credit, and he is also recorded as being active in other courts including Ferrara and Urbino, with his children establishing branches as far as Buda and Constantinople.59 As a company originally based in the textile industry, it is not surprising the Gondi are often recorded providing cloth. For example, in 1473 Duke Alfonso d’Aragona bought silk and brocade from the Gondi through the Strozzi Bank, and in 1478 the court records note that the Gondi were paid for some ‘cloth and silk.’ They are also listed as providing other cultural goods for the Aragonese, including a map of Lombardy as well as books.60 Giuliano Gondi’s business with the Aragonese served him well politically as Ferrante intervened with the Florentine government in 1477 on Giuliano’s behalf, on grounds that still remain unclear.61 By 1478 his position within Florentine politics had changed for the better, as he was used as a negotiator on Lorenzo de’ Medici’s behalf in relations with Duke Alfonso d’Aragona. Like Filippo Strozzi, Giuliano Gondi’s associations with the Neapolitan court were advertised in Florence, most notably, in his palace decoration where he flaunted the device of the cornucopia, bound with ribbons inscribed with the letters SIN, referring to the motto ‘Non Sine Labore.’  The motto was known to have been given to Giuliano either by Ferrante or by his son Alfonso d’Aragona, and would have been a clear marker of his close ties with the kings of Naples. The motto also appears in manuscripts associated with the Aragonese –​a device that clearly linked the ruling family with this important banker. Such a connection was also solidified through symbolic gestures: Gondi made Alfonso godfather to one of his sons, while another was named after Ferrante. In 1494 Alfonso also recognised Giuliano for his service by granting him an annual pension of 300 florins, a gesture that Giuliano accepted in honour but not in funds, stating that it was not proper for a citizen of a ‘free city’ to accept an annuity from a foreign prince.62 Giuliano makes it clear here

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that he was all too aware of the binding force of money and the obligations that might ensue, playing on his status as a citizen of a republic. The Gondi also appear in Ferrarese court records providing textiles, jewels, and loans for Duchess Eleonora d’Aragona. Giuliano’s relationship with the Este court in Ferrara is indicated in a document in Modena, which records Giuliano Gondi giving a gift of velvet to Anna Sforza upon her marriage to Alfonso d’Este in 1491.63 The Gondi also provide another example of how the practices of pawning can lead to disputes between individuals, and will be discussed in detail towards the end of this chapter, when the pawning of a cross led to hostilities between the Este and Aragonese. All three companies –​the Strozzi, the Medici, and the Gondi –​had different relations with the Aragonese, but what becomes evident is that each company, in its own way, deepened its relationship with the Neapolitan court through the trading, exchanging, and pawning of goods. This was not merely a case of court demand with the Gondi, Strozzi, and Medici supplying merchandise for the tastes of the court. Instead, these merchant bankers should be seen as mutually engaging in the formation of tastes around certain objects and as points of contact between diverse social groups. The emphasis on Florentine merchants should not, however, encourage or support an older north/​south bias of Florence as centre of taste and production and the Neapolitan court made up of passive consumers. Florentine merchant bankers provided goods that were of Florentine manufacture, but they also facilitated objects of foreign origin, from northern tapestries to ceramics from the Levant.64 The Neapolitan court was made up of discerning patrons including both male and female collectors such as King Alfonso, Diomede Carafa, Eleonora d’Aragona, and Ippolita Sforza. Merchant bankers certainly acquired monetary gains through their transactions with the court, but their provision of goods both as commodities and as gifts enhanced their reputation by being associated with an illustrious court known for its erudition and taste. As seen in the previous chapter, Naples also provided a variety of gifts –​material and immaterial  –​to Florence. Examining merchant bankers’ roles as facilitators, mediators, and tastemakers alongside the reception and circulation of objects in Naples, provides a means to give agency to both sides as well as to the objects of exchange.

Clients and Consumers: The Neapolitan Court and Nobility Contact was constant between merchant bankers and the Neapolitan nobility, yet personalities, politics, interests, and human relationships inevitably complicated these exchanges, and complex ties of obligation and memories were forged as objects circulated through different hands, whether as gifts, merchandise, or pawns. Ippolita Sforza, Duchess of Calabria, for instance, constantly pawned

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her jewels, and often used her luxury objects as credit to make purchases. Her secretary, Baldo Martorelli, frequently appears in the Strozzi accounts on behalf of Ippolita for the purchasing of things such as shoes, silver, clothing, and jewellery.65 The accounts –​including those of the Neapolitan royal tesoriere and the Strozzi Bank –​also reveal a pattern of individual loans to one bank being taken over by another bank. For instance, on 2 January 1473, the Strozzi Bank paid 100 ducati to Lorenzo de’ Medici for the account of Baldo Martorelli, who was working on behalf of Ippolita, who sought to purchase clothing. This complex transaction demonstrates how many diverse individuals could be implicated in these kinds of business dealings.66 Ippolita’s husband, Duke Alfonso d’Aragona, also financed much of his cultural patronage through these various banks. For instance, in 1489 Alfonso purchased a silver portrait of himself through the Strozzi Bank for just more than 34 ducati, to be given to Paolo della Pietra to be offered as a voto in the name of the duke, at Santa Maria di Loreto.67 Diomede Carafa, as explored in the previous chapter, was a collector of antiquities and contemporary art objects, and as a humanist and political figure, he was in contact with many individuals across Italy. Beyond Diomede’s official role at the court of Naples, which would have required him to correspond with various merchant bankers on behalf of the Aragonese, Diomede and Filippo Strozzi were in contact quite regularly on a more personal basis. Diomede is recorded sending gloves from Spain through Filippo to Eleonora d’Aragona (Diomede’s former student) and ‘una tassetalla’ for his goddaughter, the young Isabella d’Este.68 In 1474, Diomede wrote a letter to Filippo informing him that he was sending his jester ‘creato Bernardino Curiale’ on a trip to Ferrara to visit Eleonora, but first he was sending Bernardino to visit Filippo Strozzi and his family, as well as to Lorenzo de’ Medici in Florence.69 Diomede had a personal account with Filippo and would have frequently dealt with the Strozzi Bank while serving as the court’s scrivano di razione. Filippo also served as an important artistic link for Diomede. In March 1467, Filippo is recorded paying 2 florins to an anonymous artist for a painted copy of Piero de’ Medici’s scrittoio for Diomede Carafa.70 Carafa, who was actively collecting antiquities, had moved into his newly erected palazzo in 1466 and was looking for a model for his studiolo, which he built soon afterwards.71 Filippo also facilitated the commissioning and shipment of a Florentine lettuccio to Diomede. It is important to reiterate that the Aragonese were not the only clients of these merchant banking firms. Mario Del Treppo’s study on the clientele of the Florentine merchant bankers working in the Neapolitan kingdom shows that outside the court, various feudal lords and ‘signori’ –​the prominent Neapolitan families such as those of the Orsini, Sanseverino, Carafa, and Coppola –​also used these banks.72 The stakes and interests thus varied depending on the nature

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of the relationships imbricated, the goods transacted, and the roles played. An individual employed at court, like Diomede, could form relationships with a merchant banker such as Filippo Strozzi, through transactions that could serve both personal/​private and courtly/​public interests. LETTUCCI, GEMS, JEWELS, AND BOOKS: THE CIRCULATION OF GOODS

Diverse cultural goods were shipped and facilitated by merchant banking firms in close association with the Aragonese, but how did the circulation of goods form interests in specific types of objects and give rise to narratives and stories? Large-​scale furniture such as lettucci associated with Florentine manufacture were shown off to viewers both in the shop and in the palazzo, generating interest in its particular form. Small-​scale jewellery such as antique gems and jewels were not necessarily of Florentine origin, but were often in the possession of merchant bankers as loans, pawns, collector’s items, and commodities, and their frequent circulation indicates the transient nature of luxury possessions at this time.

The Florentine Lettuccio in Naples Besides Filippo Strozzi’s gift of a lettuccio to King Ferrante, Filippo was responsible for sending two and possibly three other lettucci down to Naples, all for different clients and at different times. Lettucci and their decoration varied, but in general a lettuccio was a piece of furniture similar to a daybed (Figures 7 and ​ 8).73 Lettucci often had armrests, which could be elaborately carved and decoration was also frequently applied to the back panel or spalliera, as well as to the cornices and side panels, and they typically had a cassone or a chest built in under the seat.The spalliera could be painted with a scene, like those decorating cassoni, or elaborately carved with intarsia (Figure 8). In June 1467 Filippo Strozzi’s account books record a commission to Giuliano da Maiano for a lettuccio for Diomede Carafa to be sent to Naples in July of that year.74 Diomede’s lettuccio was 4.5 braccia (roughly 2.6 metres) costing 25 florins and was sent down to Naples via the galley of Piero Vespucci.75 As Diomede’s palazzo was known to be a location where state business was often conducted, the lettuccio was presumably viewed by many. Lettucci could be used to recline on when ill, as attested by a print from Savonarola’s The Art of Dying Well (Figure 8), which shows a sick man reclining on his lettuccio, while visitors come to attend to him.76 In March 1472, the Venetian ambassador Zaccaria Barbaro reported that he had gone to visit Diomede who was sick with fever, and noted that all the sons and daughters of the king as well as the ambassadors had been in to see him.77 While there is no reference to where Diomede was situated one might assume that he was either in a daybed or in bed, recalling

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7.  King Solomon giving audience from his lettuccio. From Biblia Italica (Malermi Bible), Book 2: Frontispiece.Venice: Giovanni Ragazzo for Lucantonio Giunta, 1490. Photo: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, The Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1933 (33.66).

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8. Example of a lettuccio from Girolamo Savonarola’s Predica dell’arte del bene morire, Florence: Antonio Tubini, c. 1502. Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art, Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1925 (25.30.95).

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the Italian saying still used today when someone is ill –​that they are between bed and daybed (‘essere tra letto e lettuccio’). Two years after Diomede’s commission, Filippo’s account books from 1469 record a lettuccio for his brother, Lorenzo Strozzi, who commissioned a ‘maestro Domenicho depintore’ to paint it. This commission included painting a figure and ‘other things’ on the lettuccio and was intended for Lorenzo’s room, presumably in the Strozzi residence in the quarter of the Portanova in Naples. Considering that the Strozzi were well acquainted with the merchant and court communities, Lorenzo’s lettuccio most likely was viewed by a variety of individuals.78 In 1473 Filippo Strozzi travelled down to Naples and, as mentioned, he recorded numerous gifts for his ‘friends’ there, among which was the lettuccio intended for the king and is described as follows: 1 nut [wood] lettuccio, 6 braccia with cassone and spalliere and cornice, very beautiful, on which is depicted a perspective of Naples with castle and environs, initial cost 110 fiorini larghi and between customs and transport all the way to Naples, travelling by land, comes to:………………………f. 180.79

The lettuccio was thus around 3.5 metres made with a chest and spalliere, which bore a representation of Naples with the Castel Nuovo and its surroundings, costing 180 florins including transport.80 The lettuccio, or more specifically the perspective of Naples, has been a source of scholarly debate. In 1994 del Treppo believed he had discovered new evidence regarding the lettuccio and suggested a connection to the Tavola Strozzi (Plate I).81 The Tavola Strozzi has been the subject of scrutiny ever since it was discovered by Corrado Ricci in 1904 in the house of Prince Carlo Strozzi in Florence.82 The painting depicts the triumphal flotilla of the Aragonese returning from the Battle of Ischia in 1465. The Tavola Strozzi’s provenance, before its discovery in 1904, is unknown, and its original function, artist, date, and the reason for execution are all up for debate.83 The painting depicts many of the important buildings in Naples including the main castles, churches, and monasteries. The triumphant ships proudly fly flags from bow and stern sporting the insignia of the Aragonese, the Order of the Ermine, as well as the insignia of other prominent families, including the three moons of the Strozzi (not visible in most reproductions). It is painted on wood, which has led del Treppo to conjecture that the painting is indeed part of the lettuccio commissioned by Filippo Strozzi, as lettucci often contained painted spalliere.84 While Guido Donatone supports del Treppo’s argument, Fiorella Sricchia Santoro has found other evidence that the perspective of Naples was intarsia. As the da Maiano brothers were known for their woodwork and intarsia, Santoro suggests it is more likely that the depiction of Naples on the lettuccio

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was an inlaid perspective, and others have also underlined that the vocabulary to describe the view denotes intarsia work.85 Indeed, intarsia typically plays on perspective, depicting complicated images of still life or geographical views.86 Significantly, Strozzi owned at least three topographical paintings depicting Naples, in addition to commissioning two large lettucci depicting a view of that port city. The first lettuccio with a view of Naples was ordered for Strozzi from Giuliano da Maiano in 1466 and the other, as mentioned, from Giuliano’s brother, Benedetto in 1473 as a gift for the king.87 Filippo’s commissions of views of Naples suggest he was keen on underlining his connections to the city and the prestige that it would engender. Filippo’s choice to include a view of Naples on the lettuccio for the king would have not only emphasised Ferrante’s power and dominion over the city, but also would have spoken to a number of other views of Naples in circulation. Eleonora d’Aragona commissioned a series of representations of Naples: a view of Naples depicted on her balcony in the Castel Vecchio in Ferrara; a view of Naples painted in a camerino in her garden apartments; and her gift of a painting of Naples to either Milan or Mantua, two cities in which her daughters (Ferrante’s granddaughters) lived.88 The gifts of representations of Naples and the movement of these depictions between courts signals a conscious reference to the Aragonese dynasty, not only for the daughter of the King of Naples and his granddaughters, but also for those involved in economic and social relations with the king. The king’s lettuccio was much discussed in a series of letters between Filippo and his brother-​in-​law, the Florentine silk merchant Marco Parenti. Filippo left for Naples before the lettuccio was completed and Marco supervised the final work on it and its shipment to Naples. On 3 April 1473 the Strozzi Company in Florence wrote to Filippo Strozzi in Naples stating that the lettuccio was finished but that Marco wanted to have the predella redone as well as ‘other things’ and that Marco was also having more gold applied.89 On 12 April 1473 Marco wrote to Filippo updating him on the lettuccio’s progress, as quoted at the start of this chapter. Marco’s letter raises some important points in regard to the reception of the lettuccio. As Marco remarked, the daybed had been admired by many Florentines who had come to see it in the shop and its beauty caused viewers to return more than once to admire it, revealing that the bed was a site of interest in Florence. He observes that it was both those well versed in the arts as well as regular citizens who viewed it, comprising individuals who had intentionally made a trip to see it as well as the general public who glanced sight of it as they left the Duomo and strolled along the Via de’ Servi, where the famous Maiano bottega was situated. The display of the lettuccio in Florence in the days leading up to Easter 1473 recalls the Florentine custom associated with the feast of Saint John the Baptist, whereby artisans every year displayed their finest wares outside their shops and botteghe, as described by Piero Cennini

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in 1475.90 As Cennini states, the display of such precious things was for ‘the greater honor of the city, and perhaps for greater profit,’ pointing to the ways in which symbolic goods were also commodities and could address both mercantile and civic virtues at once.91 For Benedetto Dei, it was the goldsmiths, jewellers, sculptors, painters, and ‘masters of perspective’ (a particular skill that the da Maiano brothers were applauded for) that made Florence the perfect city.92 The gift of the lettuccio thus reflected Filippo Strozzi’s taste, as well as the culture and beauty of his native city (of which the status of citizen he had only recently re-​achieved after years of exile), while the depicted view of Naples underlined the glory of his adopted city. In his letter, Marco writes that Benedetto da Maiano had left the previous day for Rome, en route to Naples, and that the artist had already used 300 pieces of gold leaf on the lettuccio. Admirers were told that the lettuccio was for the king, and Marco observes that many wondered whether it was commissioned by the king or whether it was a gift from Strozzi. Marco also compares it to a lettuccio by Benedetto owned by Pierfrancesco de’ Medici, which cost 200 florins –​considerably more than Strozzi’s commission. Marco states that the cornice of the Medici lettuccio may be more beautiful but the ‘middle’ (presumably the spalliera and interior decoration of the king’s lettuccio, and the view of Naples) surpasses the Medici lettuccio. Marco’s observations reiterate the competitiveness in the commissioning of such objects. By comparing the two lettucci, one commissioned by the Medici and the other by Filippo, an element of rivalry is suggested, related to knowledge and taste. Marco suggests that Filippo, although spending less on the lettuccio has proved to be more astute, as his lettuccio rivals and even exceeds the Medici daybed. As Arjun Appadurai has noted, the politics of specialised knowledge is a crucial component in defining luxury goods, as well as the relationship between consumption and body/​person/​personality.93 The commissioning of luxury objects, such as lettucci, is thus not only about the amount that they cost, but also about object knowledge: how much one should pay, what sort of materials one should use, what artist to commission, how it is valued within the spheres in which it is exchanged, and who is implicated in that exchange. Indeed, in the case of the lettuccio, the producer and the consumer seem to be crucial components, and its status as a gift, introduces an added player –​the giver.That it is made in a well-​known workshop and that it is intended for the king are the defining factors in determining value. By observing that viewers marvelled at the lettuccio and pondered over whether it was commissioned by the king or by Filippo, Marco equates Filippo’s taste and economic capabilities of commissioning such a luxury object with those of the King of Naples. It is Filippo’s association with the king that is being flaunted here in the public display of the object, as well as the da Maiano’s wish to be associated with such a commission.

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Another crucial component of such luxury goods in the early modern period was linked to narratives around these objects.What becomes important, then is not only knowing their histories, production, or provenances, but also the genealogies and relationships of the lettucci. In this case, the knowledge that Pierfrancesco de’ Medici owned a lettuccio, and that a new lettuccio was being commissioned for the King of Naples, allowed viewers to make comparisons. This is exemplified by the specifications provided by Lorenzo di Matteo Morelli when he commissioned a lettuccio with three intarsia triumphs from Giuliano da Maiano in 1466, stipulating that he wanted it be like (in terms of quality) the one Giuliano had made for Niccolò di Luigi Ridolfi, showing an awareness of the lettucci market.94 This sort of interest in particular objects and the comparisons they give rise to creates a demand –​in this case for the lettuccio –​that turns just a bed into a culturally resonant object, commissioned by a select group of individuals. This knowledge about lettucci ownership, at least in the unique circumstance of the Strozzi lettuccio, is then disseminated into the larger cultural field as it is shown on display in the workshop viewed by the public and engaged with as furniture in the palazzo, by the family, visitors, and servants. After Marco’s descriptive letter there is further news regarding Strozzi’s lettuccio for the king. A letter from the Strozzi Company in Florence to the branch in Naples dated 30 April 1473 confirms the delivery of the lettuccio and the arrival of Benedetto da Maiano in Naples to assemble it.95 The letter also details the reception of the lettuccio in Naples, stating that it was esteemed a beautiful thing (‘bella cosa’). On 15 May 1473 Marco wrote to Filippo in response to the latter’s letter, confirming that the lettuccio had arrived in Naples, and that Benedetto was also there.96 On 20 July 1473, Strozzi’s account book records the payment to ‘Ristoro di Iacopo da Lantella vetturale’ (the driver), for ‘the carriage from Florence to here [Naples] of a decorated lettuccio, which was given to the Maestà del Signor Re.’97 There is no news about the lettuccio, until almost a year later, when Filippo on 1 May 1474, now in Florence, writes to Lorenzo Strozzi in Naples. Filippo states that he has sent some additions to the lettuccio, including the ‘crown and [the impresa of] the mountain of diamonds’ along with textiles, noting that these ‘adornments’ will make the already ‘beautiful lettuccio […] even more beautiful.’98 Textiles were often used to decorate beds, seats, and lettucci in the form of hangings, canopies, and coverings as a way to add prestige.99 Filippo instructs Lorenzo to make sure to affix them well, with the crown above the arms, and the prettiest stone in front. The crown certainly symbolised royalty and the mountain of diamonds was a common impresa used by the Aragonese, often associated with the Order of the Ermine. The possible complexity of such an iconographic programme is evidenced by a belt embellished with similar devices commissioned by Filippo Strozzi in Naples and sent to him by Marco Parenti in Florence in 1451. Taking pride

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in the fantasia devised for the belt, Marco explained in extreme detail in a letter how the devices –​a moon goddess, a circle, and an armed king seated in a town  –​were to be interpreted. The first two devices point to a rather arcane symbolism, representing Strozzi and Marco, too complex to go into detail here. However, the last image is particularly important as Marco explains he has represented the city of Naples through the image of the king, whose power extends through the realm, as a symbol of monarchical government.100 Considering the weight Marco and Filippo placed on the tiny devices on a belt, it is likely that such large imprese placed on a daybed conveyed symbolic messages of power. Lettucci had multiple functions, as they could be used to lie or sit down as a daybed, while visual imagery suggests that when used by royalty, they could also serve as a piece of furniture from which to give audience. An illustration from the Malermi Bible (Figure 7) depicts a lettuccio as a seat of honour, where King Solomon gives audience from his lettuccio as a type of throne.101 Here King Solomon reclines with pillows, and the cloth behind forms a canopy, likely similar to the textiles that Filippo added to the lettuccio. The depiction suggests the ways in which the object would have had an intimate relationship with the body of King Ferrante, as well as with those who viewed it. Decorated with his imprese and a view of Naples, it would have linked the king’s territory, his personal mottoes, and imprese with his physical body. While we have no other accounts of the lettuccio, the letters reveal that the object was a source of discussion, not only for those involved in the commission, but also for the Florentine citizens who came to marvel at it, as well as for the Neapolitan court who received it when it arrived in Naples. This suggests how such objects, although somewhat ‘private’ or personal may have had a more public function, underlining the blurred boundaries of public and private in the early modern period. As a piece of furniture, it would have solicited a form of bodily engagement, as viewers either sat on it, passed by it, or even bumped into it. As studies on cassoni and more recent literature on the domestic sphere have revealed, pieces of furniture could be inherently social and could convey political and symbolic messages, meant for a broader viewership beyond the owners who used them.102 For Mimi Hellman, furniture can be considered a social actor that, when used, sets up a mutual relationship between itself and the body that uses it, resulting in a ‘joint performance’ by both the person and the thing. The particular nature of the lettuccio furthers the sociability of the object, as one gave audience from it or received visitors, thus as Hellman argues, furniture ‘shape[s]‌the form and content of social exchange’ rather than merely acting as a backdrop.103 Filippo Strozzi’s commissioning of the lettuccio also influenced Duke Alfonso d’Aragona to have a similar one made three years later. Alfonso, the son of Ferrante, undoubtedly viewed the king’s lettuccio, and consequently sought to

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own one and participate in the commissioning of lettucci, which had now become a sought-​after item at the court of Naples. Between 1476 and 1477 Giuliano da Maiano worked on a lettuccio for Alfonso. Alfonso’s lettuccio does not have a direct link with Filippo Strozzi, as the commission was made by Andrea Partini, a business associate of Filippo and probably an associate of the Benedetto Salutati, the head of the company that shipped the piece of furniture.104 Alfonso’s choice to have his lettuccio made by the da Maiano workshop followed the tastes of the previous lettucci that had been sent down to Naples from Florence and underlines how objects made by the same artist might take different routes through different mediators, similar to the ways books from the shop of Vespasiano da Bisticci were bought and sent to Naples through multiple merchant bankers and agents. The documents pertaining to the commission of Alfonso’s lettuccio were discovered by Dario Covi in the archives of the Ospedale degli Innocenti in Florence, in the account books of Benedetto Salutati and Company, Florentine merchant bankers who also had branches in Rome and Naples. The account books record a number of payments to Giuliano da Maiano from 24 July 1476 to 16 August 1477, which came to 210 fiorini larghi, roughly comparable to the amount Pierfrancesco de’ Medici paid for his lettuccio, but considerably more than Strozzi’s commission. Alfonso also had 2,200 pieces of gold leaf and 150 pieces of silver leaf applied to the lettuccio by the painters Lorenzo di Piero and partners, which cost another 25 florins and 6 danari. More expenses were incurred for transportation and shipment, which included the paper, rope, and other materials to pack it, customs taxes, and freight charges. These shipping accounts also reveal that other lettucci were shipped with the larger one.105 A  document of 16 September 1477 from the Salutati books records the shipment of three lettucci, noting two of them were for the accounts of the Salutati Company and the third lettuccio was for the account of Simone Vespucci.106 The accounts of the Salutati Company from 1475 to 1479 reveal, as Covi suggests, that the Salutati seem to have had a standing account for lettucci during these years.107 The accounts also demonstrate that the commissioning of such items and their shipment from one city to another involved a series of intermediaries:  the makers, artists, merchants, shippers, customs agents, receivers, consumers, and viewers.108 In addition to the Neapolitan lettucci, it should be noted that Eleonora d’Aragona, who had spent her childhood in Naples, also commissioned a lettuccio for her apartments in Ferrara. On 28 August 1488 Eleonora paid a ‘Maestro Piero de Paxa Intaiadore’ in Modena for wood for a lettuccio. On 30 December 1489 a ‘Maestro Pollo Toto’ was paid 75 lire marchesani for a large lettuccio, presumably the same one she bought the wood for in August 1488.The large lettuccio was made in Modena, and placed in her garden apartments near the Castel Vecchio.109 Intarsia was indeed a well-​known speciality of Modena,

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exemplified by the Lendinara brothers’ sought-​after work. Eleonora thus chose to make use of nearby craftsmen. The lettucci destined for the Neapolitan court all differ in price, ranging from 25 to 210 florins, likely reflecting a variance in decoration and gilding, as well as structural components, such as the inclusion of cassoni, compartments, shelves, predelle, and spalliere. Diomede’s lettuccio appears to be the cheapest costing only 25 florins, however, such a price could still purchase a decent amount of decoration. In Lorenzo de’ Medici’s inventory, his lettuccio was valued at 45 florins, which was made out of cypress and had walnut panels decorated with intarsia but was considerably larger, measuring 9 braccia long, while the Florentine merchant Lorenzo Morelli’s lettuccio containing three intarsia triumphs, measuring 4 braccia long, and made by Giuliano da Maiano cost just more than 21 florins, although he later added a cornice, brackets, and gilding, which cost more than 5 florins.110 As mentioned, Filippo Strozzi owned a number of lettucci –​his commission from Giuliano in 1466 also with a view of Naples measured the same length as the one he gifted to Ferrante (6 braccia), however Filippo’s cost a quarter of the price.111 Filippo Strozzi’s commissioning of the da Maiano brothers for lettucci appears to have introduced a Neapolitan sensibility for their work.We know that Filippo Strozzi facilitated the trip of Benedetto da Maiano from Florence to Naples when he commissioned the lettuccio for the king and this sparked an interest to have the brothers work in Naples.112 Giuliano da Maiano travelled to Naples in 1484 to execute work on the great arch at the Porta Capuana, erected near the Castel Capuana, which was the residence of Duke Alfonso d’Aragona (later Alfonso II) and Duchess Ippolita Sforza.113 However, it was the Gondi Bank, and not the Strozzi Bank, that was largely responsible for paying Giuliano da Maiano’s work for Alfonso. Court records reveal that Giuliano was paid 20 florins through the Gondi Bank on 2 March 1485 to make the trip down to Naples as an architect for Alfonso.114 On 27 April 1485 Alfonso paid 20 ducati for the price of a mule he was giving to Giuliano da Maiano who had arrived only a few days before in Naples to execute some designs and building work.115 On 8 August 1487, the Gondi are recorded paying 232 ducati for unspecified designs by Giuliano done in July of that year.116 Joampiero Leostello da Volterra in his Effermeridi, a chronicle detailing the deeds of Alfonso, records that on 17 February 1487, Alfonso had begun work on his various architectural projects and had employed Giuliano da Maiano as his architect.117 Indeed, some scholars have labelled Giuliano ducal architect from 1488 to 1490, during which he not only provided designs but supervised various architectural projects, including the building of the Palazzo di Poggioreale and work in the Castel Capuana, which involved renovations to Alfonso’s studiolo and oratory.118 In his Lives, Vasari states that Alfonso commissioned Giuliano to execute the work on his

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scrittoio, presumably intarsia panelling similar to the studiolo at Urbino (see Figure 45, p. 189).119 It was the da Maiano brothers’ impressive skill in intarsia seen on lettucci that sparked an interest in their work, and inevitably led the brothers to work in Naples. The lettucci sent down to Naples caused fascination with the object both in Florence and in Naples. The interest in lettucci at the Neapolitan court reflects a keen desire to acquire novel objects from a variety of sources. Florentine merchant bankers who had their pulse on the market were thus key components in the acquisition of luxury objects. The Neapolitan court had specific tastes, but they were also keen on being introduced to novel items –​ from pieces of furniture to architectural designs. It was Filippo Strozzi who provided the means of travel for Benedetto, but it was Gondi who brokered the artist’s brother, Giuliano to work in Naples. The multiple people involved in these sorts of exchanges underlines that early modern markets were largely indebted to a web of associations and transactions, rather than consistent, streamlined commercial enterprises. It was indeed these webs that allowed for more ad hoc negotiations, which criss-​crossed over lines of commerce and gifts, and resulted in often messy but flexible relationships and roles.

Gems and Jewels: Circulation, Replication, and Transmission The example of the lettuccio in Naples demonstrates how merchant bankers participated in the formation of tastes in new objects, but in what ways were they involved in the circulation and interest in antiquities and previously owned possessions? This section examines the ways in which gems circulated in a variety of forms, and how the commissioning of books in Florence facilitated the dissemination of gems and their motifs as they were depicted in manuscript illumination. Merchant bankers often found themselves in ideal positions to procure antiquities, and thus facilitated circulation through ownership. The Medici courtyard medallions, and the gems they copy, are perfect examples of these two forms of circulation: through ownership and visual replication across Italy as well as in France, the Netherlands, and even Dalmatia.120 The Medici courtyard medallions (Figure 9) were most likely part of the larger decorative commission for the Palazzo Medici courtyard in the early 1450s or 1460s.121 These medallions copied famous antique gems, well known in humanist and collecting circles, yet the cameos copied were not then in the Medici collections, but in the following forty years would come into Medici possession.Three of the engraved gemstones that were used as sources, Daedalus and Icarus, Athena and Poseidon, and Dionysus and the Satyr entered the Medici collection in 1462; the Chariot with Dionysus Led by Psychai and Diomedes and the Palladium were acquired by Lorenzo from Pope Paul II’s collection in 1471; the centaur was acquired in 1492; and the Dionysus with Ariadne and Naxos is

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9. Workshop of Donatello, Medallions in the Medici courtyard replicating gems (including Diomedes and the Palladium), 1450s?, Palazzo Medici, Florence. Photo by author.

known to have belonged to the Gonzaga family.122 Scholars have connected the symbolic interpretations of the reliefs in conjunction with Donatello’s David, which was placed in the courtyard and for which a date of execution is also unknown.123 This is further supported by the fact that a variant of one of these cameos, the Dionysus on a Chariot Led by Psychai (or sometimes referred to as the Triumph of Bacchus) is depicted on Goliath’s helmet under David’s foot.124 As these gems passed through a number of hands, narratives begin to be told, causing a variety of individuals to be interested in their provenances and histories. It is also through their display, engagement, and copying by artists, that their fame and stories are circulated and transmitted. As Giovanni Pontano explained, owners could benefit from knowledge circulating about their gems, which would enhance their own reputations.125 The gem of Diomedes and the Palladium (see Figure  10 for its plaquette version) was procured in 1465 by Pope Paul II (formerly Pietro Barbo before his election to pope), when he oversaw the estate of Ludovico Trevisan, the Chamberlain of the Apostolic Camera, who died in that year.126 It was in September 1471, after Paul II’s death and the coronation of Pope Sixtus IV, when Lorenzo de’ Medici travelled to Rome as an ambassador, that he obtained the Diomedes and the Palladium. Lorenzo wrote in his ricordi:

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10.  Diomedes and the Palladium. Bronze plaquette. Fifteenth-​century copy of antique gem. Photo: © The Trustees of the British Museum, 1915, 1216.162.

In September of 1471 I was elected ambassador to Rome for the coronation of Pope Sixtus IV, where I  was very honored, and from there I  carried away two ancient marble heads with the images of Augustus and Agrippa, which the said Pope gave me; and, in addition I took away our dish of carved chalcedony [the Tazza Farnese] along with many other cameos [i.e., gems] and coins which were then bought, among them the chalcedony [the Diomedes and the Palladium].127

It should be noted that Lorenzo did not receive these in his role as ambassador, but rather in his position as a member of the Medici Bank. The Medici Bank in Rome cancelled the past papal debts accrued by Paul II, and made Sixtus new loans, through which they acquired the gems. Thus Lorenzo, like other merchant bankers, often obtained these types of antiquities (sometimes only temporarily) from court rulers as collateral against large loans, underlining how pawnbrokers and gem dealers had at times the financial power equivalent to, if not surpassing, a city-​state. The Diomedes and the Palladium’s history was, however, even more intriguing for Renaissance viewers. Both Lorenzo Ghiberti in his Commentaries (1450) and Vespasiano da Bisticci in his Vita di Niccolò Niccoli (after 1480) narrated the

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strange tale on how the gem came into the possession of Niccolò Niccoli, the owner of the gem before Ludovico Trevisan. Niccolò is said to have seen a young boy in the street, sporting the chalcedony around his neck. Niccolò, who was extremely taken by the gem, asked the boy’s father how much he wanted for it, and the father, ‘who didn’t know how to appreciate it’ was content with receiving 5 florins for it.128 Vespasiano notes that when Ludovico Trevisan was in Florence he asked Niccolò if he could have the chalcedony sent to him, so he could see it, and ‘it pleased him so greatly that he kept it, and sent to Nicolao two hundred golden ducati and he urged him so much that Nicolao, not being a rich man, let him have it.’129 This anecdote, whether fanciful or not, underlines the different ways the stories of these gems spread through diverse literary forms. Indeed, the gem was also mentioned by Antonio Filarete in his Trattato di Architettura from the 1460s.130 After Ludovico, the Diomedes was passed on to Paul II.Three additional versions of the Diomedes were in Paul II’s inventory in 1457 yet he still sought to obtain the Niccoli-​Trevisan version, now rather famous through the stories circulating in collecting circles.131 Lorenzo’s Ricordi underline his fascination and pride in procuring the famous chalcedony, while in 1495 Caradosso Foppa mentioned it as one of Lorenzo’s best three gems in a letter written to Ludovico Sforza after visiting the Medici collections.132 The gem was not referred to as the Diomedes and the Palladium in contemporary accounts, rather it was often identified as ‘the chalcedony,’ and recognised by either its association with Niccolò or through a description of the seated figure.133 Various copies were made of the gem. It was depicted in manuscript illumination, replicated in the Medici courtyard medallions (Figure 9), reproduced on medals, mounted in rings, and used as seals.134 The posture of Diomedes was also adapted and used by a number of artists including Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo.135 While today we may view jewels or gems in manuscript illumination as merely anonymous or imagined objects, the histories attached to these objects imply that contemporary viewers would have been far more aware of the particular copies of gems they were viewing and would thus have associated those representations with the various narratives told about the original object’s provenance and owners.The price of the Diomedes increased over a short span of time and its value was intrinsically linked to its growing fame, which was promulgated through the various copies that circulated across Italy. In Lorenzo’s inventory of 1492, the Diomedes gem was listed at 1,500 florins, 300 times the pilfered price of 5 florins that Niccolò allegedly paid, and close to eight times more than Ludovico Trevisan paid for it.136 Similarly, the Chariot of Dionysus Led by Psychai (Figure 11) was procured by Lorenzo through the estate of Paul II and was also used as a model for one of the Medici medallions, when it was still in Paul II’s possession. In Paul II’s inventory of 1457, the gem was listed at 100 ducati, but by 1492, when Lorenzo’s

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11. Sostratos, Chariot of Dionysus Led by Psychai, onyx-​sardonyx/​agate-​sardonyx cameo, inscribed LAV.R.MED, 40–​31 or 34 BC. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, inv. 25840. Photo: Archivio dell’arte/​Luciano Pedicini.

inventory was taken, it had increased ten times in value, to 1,000 florins.137 It was also copied in numerous forms such as plaquettes and replicated in manuscript illumination, including Filippo Strozzi’s copy of Pliny’s Natural History (Plate II). In 1476 Filippo engaged in a business venture with the printer Nicolaus Jenson in Venice, producing editions of Pliny’s Natural History translated into the vernacular by Cristoforo Landino and dedicated to King Ferrante.138 This edition was distinctive because there were two sets of books printed: one on regular paper, of which many were sent to London to Italian expatriates; and the other, printed on parchment, a much more expensive material and consequently only a limited number of copies were made. The first set led to a flourishing trade of books shipped between Venice and London for the Italian community in England.139 The costlier parchment copies became highly valued objects and constituted a hybrid  –​a printed book embellished with elaborate manuscript illumination. Filippo made sure to obtain his own copy and adorned it with illumination, which was done by Monte di Giovanni di Miniato and possibly his brother.140 Filippo’s manuscript is now in the Bodleian Library in Oxford and its frontispiece contains portraits of Ferrante, Filippo Strozzi, and his young son

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12. Roman, Apollo and Marsyas, carnelian intaglio, inscribed LAV.R.MED, c. 30–​27 BC, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, inv. 26051. Photo: Archivio dell’arte/​Luciano Pedicini.

(Plate II) and is also illuminated throughout, containing portraits of Ferrante with the Aragonese arms, as well as Strozzi arms and imprese. The frontispiece is embellished with mythological representations in cameo-​like shapes, which copy gems that had been recently acquired by Lorenzo de’ Medici, including Dionysus with Ariadne and Naxos and Apollo and Marsyas (Figure 12) along with the Chariot of Dionysus.141 As a previously exiled Florentine citizen, Filippo’s repatriation to Florence necessitated artistic projects that re-​established his reputation and competed with prominent patrons, such as his great palazzo, which rivalled, and in some contemporary’s opinion even surpassed, the Medici Palace.142 The presence of Ferrante’s portrait in the book alluded to Filippo’s acquaintance with the king through mercantile and political networks, while the copies of the gems also placed Filippo within the socio-​cultural spheres of collecting and humanist knowledge. The artistic rendering of the gems would have provided Filippo with an example of the famous gems in Lorenzo’s collection, but they could have also been the subject of discussion, enabling Filippo to contemplate the different renderings of the subject matter in sculptural gem form versus the painted illumination. As

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a merchant banker, Filippo came into contact with a wide range of gems and jewels and thus was well versed in the knowledge of their circulation. Here the illuminator has altered the gems slightly –​in the case of the Chariot of Dionysus, the chariot is placed in a deeper ground and a barking dog has been added in the foreground. A copy of the Chariot of Dionysus also appears depicted in the manuscript illumination of Duke Alfonso d’Aragona’s copy of Livy’s Roman History. The illuminations were done in Florence and are attributed to Gherardo di Giovanni di Miniato, possibly paid through the Gondi.143 One of the other medallions from the Medici courtyard is depicted, as well as the Aragonese imprese of the mountain of diamonds, the flaming throne, and the sprouting stock, all emblems linked to the Order of the Ermine, of which Alfonso was a member. Alfonso also collected gems, and we know that he had been in competition with Lorenzo de’ Medici, among others, for procuring the gems belonging to Cardinal Francesco Gonzaga in the 1480s.144 Alfonso’s knowledge of gems, and his participation in their collection, is thus alluded to by the depiction of these collectibles in his copy of Livy. If one could not own the particular gem, one could still gain access to that gem within a system of value that placed importance, not only on ownership (which was still a crucial part), but also on the replication, invention, and translation of artistic forms. The manuscript depicting the gems also signals the ways in which these objects circulated, not only through written narratives and letters, but also through visual imagery and replication. Illuminated copies of the Chariot of Dionysus and the Apollo and Marsyas also appear on separate pages in Petrarch’s Trionfi from the 1480s now in the Walters Art Gallery, attributed to Gherardo di Giovanni.145 The mythological figures are depicted to mimic white stone relief, which contrasts with the gold background, set within a circular frame. The Chariot of Dionysus can also be found in a missal belonging to Thomas James, Bishop of Dol in Brittany, dating from 1483 and illuminated by Attavante degli Attavanti (Figure 13).146 Here gems are depicted in black and white, contrasting tonal differences. A similar rendering of the gems appears in Ptolemy’s Geografia commissioned by Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, attributed to Francesco Rosselli or Attavanti, now in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France.147 Attavante degli Attavanti was known to have received commissions from patrons outside of Florence such as King Matthias Corvinus of Hungary and King Manuel of Portugal.148 Most of the copies in illumination of the Marsyas and the two Dionysus gems can be attributed to the Giovanni brothers, with the few exceptions of depictions by Attavanti and Rosselli.149 These artists must have thus had access to these gems, or at least their copies, a circumstance that alludes to the ways these small intimate objects should be seen as having a larger public presence. Not only were these gems disseminated

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13.  Illumination attributed to Attavante degli Attavanti, Thomas James, Bishop of Dol’s Missal, 1483. Bibliothèque municipale de Lyon, Ms 5123, folio 6v. Replication of antique gems, including Dionysus on a Chariot Led by Psychai and Dionysus with Ariadne. Photo: Crédit photographique Bibliothèque municipale de Lyon.

through copies within Italy, but it was also through the international book trade and mercantile networks that they were also viewed abroad. The particulars regarding how these gems made their way into manuscript illumination, how they were copied, who had access to the gems or copies, and who decided upon their inclusion remains a subject for further research.150 The use of these gems across media and by different artists, however, implies that plaquettes may have been used as sources. The most ubiquitous gem, the Apollo and Marsyas, confirms this suggestion (Figure 12).151 Its fame generated variants across media in Italy as well as in France and the Netherlands. It was

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most commonly known as the ‘Sigillo di Nerone’ or Nero’s seal because of the mount Lorenzo Ghiberti made for it. In his Commentaries, Ghiberti describes the gold mount as a dragon with wings accompanied by an inscription of ‘carved antique letters around the figures’ that proclaimed Nero’s ownership.152 Filarete also discussed the gem, referring to it as the ‘corniuola del Patriarca,’ most likely a reference to Ludovico Trevisan.153 Ludovico was in Florence with the papal court from July 1434 to 1443 and presumably hired Ghiberti to provide a mount for the carnelian so it could be used as a seal. Indeed, the earliest plaquette copies of the gem may have been done by Ghiberti’s workshop.154 Like many of the other famous gems, the Apollo and Marsyas was then acquired by Pope Paul II, but unlike the Diomedes, Lorenzo de’ Medici did not obtain it directly from Paul II in 1471, but rather through the Venetian dealer Domenico di Piero in 1487.155 New copies of the gem were generated every time it changed hands, and plaquettes and medals reveal a need to assert new ownership. For instance, early plaquettes include Ghiberti’s inscription referring to Nero, which publicised the gem as Nero’s seal, but also advertised Ghiberti’s handiwork.156 Once in Paul II’s collection, the pope chose to reproduce the intaglio on the reverse of a medal commemorating the peace of Italy in 1468 (Figure  14).157 The presence of the Apollo and Marsyas here could have symbolic meaning in reference to the myth, as the lyre stood for harmony and peace.158 But the carnelian, read in conjunction with Paul II’s portrait on the obverse, also had a role in identity making, connecting the pope’s profile with a prized gem from his collection. When back in Florence, under the care of Lorenzo de’ Medici, the gem was engraved with the inscription ‘LAV.R.MED.’ and plaquettes were reproduced with this inscription (Figure 15).159 The intaglio, today in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale in Naples, still bears Lorenzo’s inscription, but in the reverse (Figure 12). This implies that the gem, following its presumed use as a seal for Nero, was also used as a seal for Lorenzo, and the image would have migrated as it travelled on correspondence across Europe, complete with Lorenzo’s initials publicising his ownership. Scholars of sigillography understand seals as a marker of identity, an act of authentication and authority, which sets up a complex relationship between the owner and the object, the original and the copy.160 With the engraving stating Nero’s ownership, the seal would have been an authentication of identity, linking the new owner (a ruler or an aspiring ruler) to the roman emperor, and then later to Lorenzo. The use of the carnelian as a seal operated as a double form of authentication and ownership:  not only the authority of the letter writer but a certification of the ownership of the actual gem. The copy in this case confirms possession of the original. Casts of gems, often in the form of plaquettes or wax impressions, were often offered between collectors as gifts.161 For example, Luigi da Barberino

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14.  Attributed to Cristoforo di Geremia, Medal of Paul II commemorating the Pace d’Italia, 1468. Photo: © The Trustees of the British Museum, MI1p200.773.B.

15.  Apollo and Marsyas. Bronze plaquette, with LAV.R.MED. Fifteenth-​ century copy of antique gem. Photo: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Erich Lederer Collection, Gift of Mrs. Erich Lederer, 1986.319.8.

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wrote to Lorenzo’s secretary, Michelozzi, asking for a copy in wax or gesso of the Apollo and Marsyas carnelian, because he, and the well-​known art dealer Giovanni Ciampolini, wanted to see it.162 Luigi’s letter is dated 27 October 1487, and we know that Lorenzo had received the gem sometime in the month of October 1487, which demonstrates how those who collected and sold these gems were continually –​and promptly –​well informed on their whereabouts. Luigi’s letters refer to impressions of gems as if common practice. In early October 1487, he informed Michelozzi he was sending an antique carnelian, and wrote he had retained some impressions of it, and again in the letter of 27 October, he mentioned he was sending a wax copy of another carnelian.163 Aside from the reproductions in metallic and wax materials, there are intaglio replications of the Apollo and Marsyas in more expensive materials such as agate-​ onyx and jasper, which were almost certainly executed in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.164 Copies of the Apollo and Marsyas also appear in manuscript illumination, painting, and architectural reliefs.165 Sandro Botticelli’s Portrait of a Woman from the 1480s, now in the Städelsches Kunstinstitut in Frankfurt, is depicted wearing the gem as a necklace.166 This portrait points to the multiple uses of gems, indicating how they may have been viewed outside of the studiolo, which recalls Niccolò’s story of the Diomedes gem being worn by the boy in the street. Outside of Italy, Gerard David depicted the carnelian in a slightly altered form in a diptych narrating the judgement of Cambyses, originally meant for the town hall in Bruges.167 Lombard sculptors and architects also used the Apollo and Marsyas as a source for decoration.The gem appears on a tondo on one of four pedestals supporting the tomb of Giacomo Stefano Brivio in San Eustorgio in Milan, from 1484 to 1486.168 Still in the Lombard context, the carnelian retains its function as an architectural motif, yet translated into manuscript illumination. Simonetta’s Sforziade printed in Milan in 1486 and dedicated to Maximilian I incorporates the Apollo and Marsyas as a tondo relief on a triumphal arch on the illuminated frontispiece.169 As Edith Wyss has noted, almost all of the copies of the gem reproduce the carnelian in the reverse, which implies that an impression or a plaquette served as the source, rather than the original.170 Variants and motifs borrowed from the Dionysus on a Chariot also appear as architectural decoration at the Castel Nuovo in Naples (on the base of the interior triumphal arch (Figure 34, p. 179) and on the exterior portal to the chapel), which resemble the chariot on Goliath’s helmet under the foot of Donatello’s David. There is much debate on attribution for the arch and the building, but we do know that Donatello was in Naples and most likely took part in some of its decoration. The motifs might have also been introduced in Naples using the copies circulating on the market or through the movement of artists who came to work on the arch.171

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The copying of Medici gems in a variety of media, especially in manuscript illumination, indicates that these objects were appreciated not as anonymous gems, valued for their appearance and artistic skill alone, but also because they were specific gems, which had illustrious owners, and whose histories were well known to those who collected, exchanged, and copied them. These gems were continually taken note of –​by ambassadors, agents, artists, collectors, and political ­figures  –​and part of the interest in ownership was also interest in the knowledge around the gems: who owned what, who bought what, and how one might procure more. Lorenzo’s practice of engraving his gems with ‘LAV.R.MED.’ also alludes to the ways in which possession of these antiquities had become something linked to one’s identity, and as Bernardo Rucellai, Lorenzo’s brother-​in-​law noted, the initials were a ‘future memorial for posterity of his royal splendour.’172 By engraving his name onto these collectibles, Lorenzo was sure to make a mark on the biographies of those gems, if they ever were to leave his possession, making certain his name would be associated with the other illustrious individuals said to have owned such objects. Similarly, the Este signalled ownership of their ancient coins by marking them with the family insignia of the eagle.173 Paul II asserted claims over his cameos and intaglios by setting some of them on silver gilt tablets that contained his arms and Latin inscriptions declaring his ownership, while his prized amethyst named Abundance was mounted by itself as a seal with his arms displayed directly under the stone.174 Marks of ownership found on frames or mounts, however, also point to the detachability of identity markers and the potential for the dispersal of goods. The depictions of gems in manuscripts formed a connection across space to the objects themselves, between visual copies and the actual gems, between the books found in the studiolo and the objects collected, stored, and shown there pointing to the importance of intermediality. It was Florentine illuminators who had access to these gems or their copies, which allowed for the visual dissemination of those collectibles across Italy and abroad. The constant circulation of these objects as currency was somehow pinned down when they were depicted in illumination, allowing a visual record of something that repeatedly moved and allowing a sense of ownership of something one did not own.

THE PRACTICES OF PAWNING: OBJECTS, CONTENDERS, AND CURRENCY

It is appropriate to join splendour and magnificence, because they both consist of great expense and have a common matter, that is money. But magnificence derives its name from the concept of grandeur and concerns building, spectacle and gifts, while splendour is primarily

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concerned with the ornament of the household, the care of the person and with furnishing. –​Giovanni Pontano175

Money was the common denominator for splendour and magnificence; it was what courts sought and bankers provided. But as Pontano notes, money was not an end in itself, it was what provided the foundations for gifts and ornament, buildings and furnishings, spectacle and fame, splendour and magnificence. Companies such as the Strozzi, the Gondi, and the Medici were commercial agents and traders that enabled the circulation of goods, serving as pawnbrokers, providing loans, facilitating payments for individuals’ salaries, and providing bills of exchange for larger ventures. However, loans and pawning were far more than neutral financial transactions and can reveal social anxieties around money, its relationship to cultural goods, and status. Indeed, as has been demonstrated, merchant bankers could use goods as cultural capital to enhance their own status. Loans, pawns, and credit involved a complex network of people, objects, and money. Funding of military exercises, the running of the court, and court expenditure, especially at times of weddings and other celebrations, required large amounts of money that were frequently sought by the courts through loans. These loans were not only obtained through merchant bankers but also other political figures, and thus could create political dependencies. The Neapolitan crown was notorious for its deficit and offers numerous examples on how loans and the pawning of objects complicated relationships within and between courts. Ippolita Sforza, Duchess of Calabria, who is frequently recorded in documents for her continual pawning and loans, illustrates how these loans imbricated her in complex political relations. Ippolita married Alfonso d’Aragona, Duke of Calabria in 1465.176 Raised at the court of Milan, Ippolita received a humanist education and was well known for her literary capabilities and interests in humanistic pursuits.177 Ippolita’s marriage to Alfonso d’Aragona was arranged to solidify an alliance between Milan and Naples, although her relationship with the Aragonese court, which was often unsteady, frequently led to hostilities and diplomatic embarrassment between the two courts.178 Before her move to Naples, Ippolita maintained her own retinue of servants and she received an annual income, which provided her with an independence to pursue cultural activities, which she sought to continue after her relocation to Naples, building a studiolo and filling it with her collection of books and portraits.179 Her salary, however, proved to be a problem. Soon after her arrival in Naples, the Milanese ambassador Antonio de Trezzo reported in October 1465 to the Duke of Milan that he had negotiated with the king about the duchess’s annual salary of 8,000 ducati, which seemed too low, and that the king had added an extra 1,000 ducati per year and stated that if Ippolita had

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any extra expenses, he would be happy to provide funds when necessary.180 Welch has noted that her monthly provisions of 1,000 ducati were rarely paid and resulted in the ‘monotonous ritual of pawn-​broking and personal loans.’181 The letter of October 1465 indicates that her monthly income was 750 ducati; however, Ippolita is recorded as receiving varying amounts for her ‘provisione’: 1,000 in September 1465, 720 in April and June 1473, 750 in April and May 1473, and an unspecified amount in October 1485.182 As the Neapolitan court records no longer survive, transcriptions from the nineteenth century as well as the account books of the Strozzi are the only records to base our study on, providing an indication of Ippolita’s salary, although still a very incomplete picture. The Neapolitan court’s notorious deficit would support Welch’s claim, and later letters from the Milanese ambassador do indicate that she had some financial difficulties in relation to her salary. However, Ippolita was known as an individual who was keen to negotiate and manipulate her situation, and it would not be surprising if she had exaggerated her poverty imposed by the king if it meant she could seek further financial advantage through Milanese and other networks. Regardless, the documents indicate that Ippolita was constantly pawning her possessions and using them as pledges for loans. In July 1469, Duke Alfonso d’Aragona wrote to Piero de’ Medici in embarrassment for Ippolita’s unpaid loans with the Medici Bank.183 Ippolita had borrowed the sum of 1,800 ducati, and Alfonso apologises for his wife who has been ‘negligent in regards to our honour and credit.’184 Alfonso stresses again that it was not ‘culpa nostra’ but completely due to Ippolita’s negligence. The Aragonese were in political negotiations with the Medici at this time, and these unpaid loans would have been an added stress on already fraught relations. In February 1471, Ippolita received 4,000 ducati from her brother Galeazzo Maria Sforza, Duke of Milan, which she received for a pledge of her jewels. Two letters written to Galeazzo record the arrival of the money: one from Ippolita and one from Iacomo de Sereno, the Milanese ‘camariero’ of the duke, who was responsible for bringing down the money.185 Ippolita states that she is happy for the arrival of the 4,000 ducati because they were in dire straits, and now she does not have to sell her jewels, thanking Galeazzo for the coins. Both Iacomo de Sereno and Ippolita note that as soon as they received the money they alerted Ferrante, Alfonso d’Aragona, Diomede Carafa, as well as other gentlemen and courtiers. The letters reveal that the monetary value was essentially what was important, however, Ippolita also commented on the portrait of Galeazzo on the coins, who she noted had gained weight, thus alluding to their cultural significance. In addition, Iacomo de Seremo concludes that this money has elevated the Duke of Milan’s reputation in Naples and in all ‘Catalonia,’ where such an act reflects his ‘grand magnanimity.’186 At a time

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when political tensions between Milan and Naples were unstable, Iacomo’s observation that King Ferrante was extremely pleased to be allied with such a person, also underlines the ways in which such loans constituted political relationships. Ippolita sought financial help again from her brother in 1473. On 21 July 1473, Ippolita wrote to Galeazzo asking for 4,000 ducati, for which she would pledge 5,000 ducati worth of jewels.187 This was her second request, the first demand not having received a reply. The desperate nature of the situation is stressed by a third letter on 20 August 1473 requesting the loan again, and there are no later documents to testify whether she did indeed receive the money.188 In 1474 Francesco Maleta, the Milanese ambassador in Naples wrote to Galeazzo about Ippolita’s debt with the Duke of Urbino and commented on the beauty of her pawned jewels, underlining the aesthetic as well as monetary loss.189 Ippolita’s dependence on Milan, while freeing the Neapolitan crown of further deficit, also positioned her in a role to defend the Milanese cause whenever possible. Ippolita’s letters to Milan clearly indicate that she was willing to provide information on the Neapolitan court to serve Milanese ends, including bribing Neapolitan officials, and solidifying a relationship with the king’s mistress to receive more insider information.190 Ippolita’s recurrent loans with the Medici Bank had similar consequences. The letter by the embarrassed Alfonso apologising for Ippolita’s defaulted loans does not appear to have deterred the Medici from providing further loans to Ippolita. It may have been her close relationship with Lorenzo de’ Medici, first fostered on his visit to Milan for Ippolita’s wedding celebrations, and solidified over the subsequent years, that allowed for some leniency.191 On 10 July 1474 Ippolita wrote to Lorenzo requesting 2,000 ducati on her ‘honour as a woman.’192 In 1480 Ippolita served as Lorenzo de’ Medici’s signatory on the peace treaty between Florence and Naples, which was signed just after Lorenzo returned to Florence from Naples. Her willingness to help the Florentines and Lorenzo on various occasions was probably due in part to her dependence on Lorenzo for money.193 Lorenzo’s trip to Naples strengthened ties with Ippolita, which was stressed by both the Milanese and Ferrarese ambassadors’ reports that state they could not find Lorenzo in his lodgings because he was with Ippolita.194 In 1481 when the king was seeking financial assistance across Italy for the war against the Turks, who had invaded Otranto, he specifically asked the Florentines for help, the Gondi having already anticipated loaning 18,000 ducati to the crown.195 Lorenzo, although on supposedly peaceful terms with Naples, was somewhat hesitant to provide funds, as the Sienese territories that had been under Neapolitan control, had still not been ceded to Florence. Ippolita leaked out confidential information, which reached Milan and Florence, declaring that Ferrante was not using all his resources, and was therefore not in such a desperate state as he made out to be.196

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However, rumours began circulating in the 1480s that the King of Naples had little money and was truly in need of funds. Reports from the Milanese ambassador in Naples confirm the deficit of the king, which caused him to pawn the queen’s and duchess’s jewels, as well as the library and the crosses from the churches.197 Having her own jewels pawned for a cause she may not have supported, or at least did not instigate, may have also been impetus for Ippolita to provide confidential information to her allies. On 3 August 1480 the Ferrarese ambassador in Naples, Niccolò Saldoleto, also reported the financial difficulties of the king.198 Niccolò informed Ercole d’Este, Duke of Ferrara that he had heard rumours for some time, which he at first was not prepared to believe, that ‘this king has no money.’ Niccolò’s conversation with other ambassadors as well as a Florentine merchant who had not been reimbursed for merchandise, confirmed the truth that the king was indeed in arrears, amounting to 100,000 ducati in debt. Niccolò affirms that the king was looking for money ‘p[er] ogni via’ and was pawning cloth and other things. On 26 December 1480 the Milanese ambassador reported to the Duke of Milan that the king was in need of funds, and would probably have to use the silver and jewels from the church treasuries.199 Although church treasuries were not usually allowed to be depleted for courtly expenditure, such measures were sanctioned due to the fact that the war with the Turks was seen as a religious crusade against the Infidel to defend the Christian faith.200 On 15 June 1481 the Milanese ambassador wrote again from Naples, stating that the Turks had invaded Otranto and that the king, to sustain the costs of the campaign, was to pawn the ‘zoye et argenti’ belonging to the royal house, including the jewels of the Queen of Naples and the Duchess of Calabria, as well as the contents of the royal library.201 Books, similar to jewels, held cultural as well as monetary value, and lavish manuscript illumination could further enhance their preciousness and worth. On 19 January 1481, a contract was drawn between the banker Battista Pandolfini and Ferrante d’Aragona, stating that Pandolfini was to loan the king 38,000 ducati for the war against the Turks, and in return the king would pawn his jewels and books as security.202 The contract stipulated that the money should be repaid by 15 May, and if it was not repaid, Pandolfini had the right to sell all the pawned objects. If the objects were sold and did not make 38,000 ducati the court would have to pay the difference, but if the items were pawned and received more than 38,000 the surplus would be returned to the court.203 The number of books totalled 266, and among them were works by Petrarch, Virgil, Ovid, Seneca, Cicero, Fazio, and also the Bible.204 The document provides a detailed description of all the jewels pawned, such as listing the number of individual pearls or the types of gems, and points to the ways in which the compiler would have been well versed in object knowledge –​ closely scrutinising every individual jewel while also measuring its value.

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In December 1494, the court pawned more items from church treasuries to local goldsmiths, which comprised church crosses, and also a tabernacle, a chalice, and an image of the Virgin.205 Pawning thus illuminates the ways in which objects move beyond their intended paths during times of crisis, an idea proposed by Appadurai.206 Such religious items created for devotion were taken out of their intended religious use to function as monetary stores during times of war, which in any other case would seem blasphemous.Yet, the commissioning of such objects was often politically motivated by the donor of the cross or the priest of the church to begin with, demonstrating how diversion can reveal the contradictory nature of such items, as their value is embedded not only in their devotional function but also in their material qualities and their ability to convey social messages. Documents pertaining to pawns are important not only for tracing the loans and the economic situation of the court, but also for the descriptions of these now lost works.207 In October 1497, the court accounts record the pawning of a saltcellar encrusted with jewels worth 500 ducati to Giovanni Carlo Tramontao, Count of Matera, providing an extremely detailed description of the object. While no longer extant, its description evokes the same lavishness as Cellini’s famous saltcellar made for King Francis I priced at 1,000 scudi.208 The pawned Aragonese saltcellar is described as made of jasper with feet, with each foot decorated with jewels, including a number of small diamonds and rubies set in gold. There were also small ‘fenestrette’ on the cellar, likely windowed openings, which were encrusted with more than sixty small pearls. On the body of the cellar there was a white enamelled elephant accompanied by two figures, who were also surrounded by a number of jewels, including diamonds and pearls as well as two sapphires. The lid of the cellar was elaborately decorated with jewels all set in gold, with a depiction of a gold figure in red enamel who held a gold shield and arrow.The shield contained a small ruby, and the arrow’s point held a small diamond, while the figure’s head was dressed with a pearl and a small diamond. In all, the saltcellar contained 18 rubies, 18 diamonds, and 113 pearls.209 The cellar most likely corresponds to court records that detail three elaborate saltcellars purchased by King Alfonso I d’Aragona in September 1455 from a French merchant living in Naples by the name of Guglielmo le Mason.210 These descriptions visualise how such objects served as artistic collectibles, useful tableware, and stores of economic value. The pawning of jewels also exemplifies the ways in which jewellery was not merely something worn or exclusively a female prerogative. Jewels, instead, were important social and cultural signifiers for both men and women, appreciated for their monetary value as well as for their identities, and when worn on the body, they manifested the physical and visible forms of credit.211 Their importance is often underlined in ambassadorial reports such as the one written in September 1479 by Paulo Antonio Trotti, the Ferrarese ambassador,

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addressed to Eleonora d’Aragona, regarding his visit with Duke Giangaleazzo Maria Sforza of Milan. Trotti reported that the Duke of Milan had shown him a number of his possessions and Trotti took note of the duke’s necklace, describing it as ‘a ruby attached to a gold chain, extremely big and large, which was the [jewel] called Il Spigo once belonging to Re Alfonso [I d’Aragona], which is the most beautiful thing I have seen.’212 The jewel, as was common in the fifteenth century, is given a name –​‘il spigo’ –​underlining the importance of these jewels and their individuality, allowing them to become personalised through this naming process.213 This naming contributed to the jewel’s social biography and the making of identities –​both of the owner and the jewel. Furthermore, Alfonso I was Eleonora’s grandfather, and such a jewel was thereby charged with memories of lineage. Il Spigo was later pawned by Ludovico il Moro in the late 1490s estimated at 25,000 ducati along with other precious jewels including a balassio (a red precious stone) with a portrait of the duke, a jewel called Il Lupo, and another called La Sempreviva.214 In 1486, King Ferrante pawned a balassio named La Roccha for the enormous sum of 100,000 ducati to Carlo Borromei and Agneolo Serragli.215 On 31 December 1484 the king pawned more jewels through Filippo Strozzi: a balassio named Il Foghato, a diamond named Lo Specchietto, and a second balassio with twenty-​eight large pearls named Il Davit.216 These names clearly derived from the visual properties of the stone: spigo, for instance, is the Italian for lavender, most likely referencing the colour of the stone; roccha and specchietto translate as rock and a small mirror, respectively. The name Davit anthropomorphised the jewel, which was presumably a large one, and most certainly carried biblical references suitable for a ruler. Indeed, medieval and Renaissance lapidaries often reference the magical powers particular types of gems could have, such as giving courage in battle or protection against poison. Ludovico’s La Sempreviva likely carried some idea of immortality with it, while engravings, inscriptions, and the antiquity of the gem could also enhance its magical properties.217 The names may have even had a role to play in display, as the Bohemian nobleman Leo of Rozmital observed when he visited Brussels in 1465 that Duke Philip the Good had his precious stones set out on a table ‘arranged according to their various names.’218 Records of pawned jewels and gems reveal their mobility. On 26 September 1487, pawned jewels were sent from Florence with Francesco Valori, ambassador of Florence, to Naples for the Strozzi Bank. The list of jewels included a large ruby, an emerald, a brooch, among others. In the same delivery, it is recorded that a separate small wooden box containing Il Davit, described as a pendant balassio set in gold with pearls and placed on a gold chain, was consigned back to the court in December 1487.219 Il Davit was thus in Filippo’s possession for three years and one wonders who may have seen or had access to the jewel while it was in Florence.

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Lorenzo de’ Medici, for example, smuggled out of Rome a strongbox of gems that had belonged to Francesco Gonzaga. The gems were being held by creditors there after Francesco’s death, and were not yet for sale, which points to the multiple ways, at times ruthless and illegal, that collectors interacted with these possessions.220 Jewels belonging to different individuals were also sometimes shipped together. On 24 March 1484, a box was shipped containing a collar belonging to Signor Gran Siniscalco, while it also contained a ‘choregiuolo da fondere,’ probably a sort of hardstone dish, belonging to Ippolita Sforza.221 Loans and pawning were also clearly linked to trade relations, and merchants would often receive concessions on customs duties as payment. In 1475 the Strozzi Company sold a balassio, which was set with three large pearls, two diamonds, and an emerald to the king for 700 ducati in exchange for extracting an equivalent sum in salt out of Puglia.222 Similarly in 1477 Ferrante offered to waive the customs dues in the exportation of foodstuffs from his kingdom, to meet the 964 ducati he owed to the Medici Bank in Naples.223 Other records allow us to understand how common and frequent pawns and loans were for the Neapolitan court. The Strozzi account books clearly show that Ferrante d’Aragona, Alfonso d’Aragona, and Ippolita Sforza were constantly pawning items and taking loans from the Strozzi Bank. Particularly intriguing are the ways these objects were pawned and then sometimes returned for a few days to serve a purpose. For instance, Ippolita pawned a ruby (‘uno rubino inchastato in uno sole’) to Gabriello di Soldo Strozzi, but she had her tesoriere Luigi Gattola ask for it back on 26 January 1488, with a promise that she would return it in five days, so that she could wear it for a feast.224 Similarly, Duke Ercole d’Este of Ferrara pawned his most treasured and famous triangolare, an enormous diamond, to the Gondi, with a half-​pawn also consigned to the Medici, during Ferrara’s war with Venice. When he wanted the diamond returned to him for a week so he could wear it to the wedding celebrations of his daughter Isabella d’Este and Francesco Gonzaga, Ercole promised all the revenue of the salt mines of Commachio for a period of ten years.225 The diamond, while obviously a symbol of wealth, also had a particular association with Ercole, who used the diamante as his impresa, employing the image on architectural keystones, in manuscript illumination, and most famously, on the façade of the Palazzo Diamante, the exterior of which is studded with diamond rustication. Such an example shows the paradoxical nature of these jewels.They were used as liquid capital for loans or credit, but the investiture of these objects with names and histories also endowed these objects with meaning and significance. Jewels could reflect family memory, if they were closely associated with a family member and then passed down through the generations. They could also serve more public forms of memory if they were attached to a prominent family or political regime, such as those belonging to

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the Medici. Such jewels were thus not only repositories of economic value but also repositories of meaning, memories, identity, and prestige. The volatility of political regimes and the fall of influential families also determined the selling and thus the circulation of goods. Many rulers across Italy eagerly sought to procure objects that were left behind by the deceased Pope Paul II in the early 1470s, however, the majority of his collections was obtained by Lorenzo de’ Medici.226 The Medici’s expulsion from Florence in the 1490s resulted in a sale of their goods, which attracted the attention of individuals like Ludovico Sforza who wrote to his ambassador to see what objects he could acquire.227 Such an auction not only reflected the public disgrace of a once prominent family and the selling of their most precious and intimate objects on the public market, it also caused contemporary observers to comment on the transient nature of wealth and magnificence.228 The value of objects was not only reflected in their material worth, but as noted, also in their biographies and provenance. Objects that had been owned by illustrious individuals were thus ever more valuable and sought after. Lorenzo de’ Medici’s famous Tazza Farnese (Figure  16) valued at 10,000 florins was not only greatly admired for its exquisite carving and the craftsman’s manipulation of the material, but also because it had been first owned by Frederick II in the early thirteenth century, then a Persian prince in Samarkand in the early fifteenth century, followed by Alfonso I d’Aragona of Naples and Ludovico Trevisan in the mid-​fifteenth century, and finally Paul II before being acquired by Lorenzo in 1471.229 Rulers and diplomatic figures thus sought to purchase items that had had previous illustrious owners, which would reflect the new owner’s status and would also add his or her name to the list of famous owners. But such objects did not merely reflect the owner’s status, rather they created memories around the circulation of such objects, and indeed contributed, if not created, the beholder’s reputation. Francesco Sforza asked to purchase jewels that had been pawned by Federigo da Montefeltro for 4,000 gold ducati, because Federigo could not repay the loan and Francesco wanted to avoid the jewels going on the open market.230 On 20 February 1488 Beatrice d’Aragona, the wife of Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary wrote to her sister Eleonora d’Aragona about some antique cameos belonging to the recently deceased Cardinal Francesco Gonzaga. Beatrice writes that her husband, the King of Hungary, wished to obtain these gems and was hoping Eleonora might intervene on his behalf.231 The relationship between reputation, identity, and ownership was also fraught with anxiety and paradox. The idea that one’s collection of precious objects could be dispersed upon one’s death or worse, at one’s economic downfall, resulted in fears around possession and loss. An attempt at permanent possession is exemplified in Lorenzo’s initials engraved on his finest gems. The ideal impetus for collecting such objects in the first place was intellectual

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16.  Tazza Farnese, c. 200–​150 BC, sardonyx agate, 20 cm wide. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples. Photo: Archivio dell’arte/​Luciano Pedicini.

and virtuous, but the practicality of it was often motivated by economics. In Lorenzo’s case, his permanent mark on his antiquities guaranteed his inalienability. Unlike the horse’s head whose connection with him was lost soon after it was gifted, the antiquities with his ‘signature’ are still known to us today. But some collectors might not have wanted a permanent reminder for others that their possessions had been pawned or sold when money got tight. It certainly depended on the object. The placing of some objects in mounts with identifying arms meant that ownership could be obliterated once it was pawned or sold. In some cases, a highly prized gem was so famous that having one’s name attached to it even for a moment in time was sufficient. For other objects that were more readily translated into liquid capital such as a jewel, advertising the necessity of pawning it due to hard times might not have been keenly sought, to protect one’s credibility. Such circulation demonstrates the politics of acquisition and the tensions around the purchasing of another’s possessions, and underlines the roles women played within these negotiations.While many courtly individuals claimed they thought it better to purchase the items from an insolvent ruler, rather than allowing the items to go on sale in public auction, the knowledge that another ruler owned one’s precious objects could provoke rivalry and political tensions.

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FRAUGHT RELATIONS: THE BEJEWELLED CROSS

The political and social tensions around the circulation of jewels are especially telling in the correspondence between Eleonora d’Aragona, Duchess of Ferrara, and the Ferrarese ambassador in Naples, Battista Bendedei.232 These letters discuss the pawning of a cross by Ippolita Sforza through the Gondi brothers (and their associate Giovanni Scolari) in the late 1480s, and its consequent purchase by Ercole d’Este, Duke of Ferrara. This case is important because it demonstrates how the pawning of objects imbricates a number of different individuals and complex webs of association. When pawning goes wrong, important issues come to the forefront. Failing to redeem a pawned object reflects the disgrace of the individual who has pawned the object, conveys the importance of the social value of the object, and highlights the interest of individuals to procure items once belonging to others. While the correspondence is sparse in some instances, and is generally one-​sided, constituting mainly of copy letters of dispatches from Eleonora d’Aragona, Duchess of Ferrara to her ambassador in Naples, Battista Bendedei, we can form a general picture of the situation. On 28 May 1488, Ippolita Sforza wrote to Eleonora d’Aragona, stating that a ‘cross of jewels’ (‘croseta de gioye’) that she had pawned through Giovanni Scolari, a Florentine merchant, had been sold to Eleonora without Ippolita’s consent.233 Ippolita noted that she had discussed the situation with Battista Bendedei, the Ferrarese ambassador to Naples, and that she would be willing to pay Eleonora the price that Eleonora had purchased the cross for, if she would agree to send the cross back to Naples. Ippolita states that she will pay 500 ducati through Giuliano Gondi and that Eleonora can return the cross with the ‘cardinale de foyas,’ who is coming to Naples with some of her other jewels, which she is having returned for her ‘ornament’ for a feast (‘quelle feste per ornamento nostro’). Ippolita declares that she wants the jewel returned because she had not authorised the Scolari to sell it, but the letter also suggests how such jewels are important for one’s ‘ornament.’ In this particular case, ‘ornamento’ can be read as both adornment but also linked to pride and honour in the wearing of these jewels and the beholder’s attachment to these possessions. Indeed, Alberti referred to a woman’s character as the ‘ornamento’ or jewel of her family in relation to chastity.234 On 20 June 1488, Eleonora d’Aragona wrote from Ferrara to Battista Bendedei in Naples in reference to the cross (‘crocetta’), and stated she was attaching a letter written to Ippolita directly, but unfortunately this particular letter to Ippolita is lost. On 23 July 1488, Eleonora writes again to Battista outlining the situation surrounding the cross.235 Eleonora claims that Antonio Gondi had been in Ferrara and presented the cross to Eleonora to buy, but because she knew its provenance and did not want to cause any problems,

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she did not purchase it. Antonio then went to Venice to try to sell the cross to various merchants; Antonio was unsuccessful and returned to Ferrara to see if Eleonora would buy it, but she refused. Antonio consequently died, succeeded by Giuliano Gondi who also urged Eleonora to purchase the cross. Eleonora claims in her letter that she contemplated the fact that if she did not buy it, the cross would be circulated by various merchants in all the cities across Italy (‘per quante citade sono in Italia’).This, she argues, would be a fate that she was sure the Duchess of Calabria would not want the cross to have, and it would be better that she had it, rather than it being bought arbitrarily by ‘any merchant or gentleman who wants it.’  This is language that certainly carries moral overtones, speaking to Alberti’s correlation between chastity, jewels, virtue, and honour. Eleonora’s husband, Ercole d’Este, then saw the jewel and was very pleased with it, which led him to purchase it and Eleonora confirms that the jewel is now with Ercole who is in Modena. The beginning of the letter of 23 July reveals that Battista had talked to Alfonso d’Aragona, Eleonora’s brother, about the cross and that Alfonso was infuriated with Eleonora and Ercole. Alfonso blamed Eleonora because he said that these were ‘not things to do between siblings.’ Alfonso used political motives, noting that Eleonora had an obligation to Alfonso because he had come to their rescue and had protected their state, referring to his help during the War of Ferrara against Venice in the early 1480s. Alfonso’s letter underlines the particular political nature of such transactions as well as the social etiquette involved. Eleonora finishes the letter stating that she is not certain on what grounds Alfonso has to ask for the cross back and that her reasons for buying the cross are justified and should not cause Alfonso to remain angry with them. On 22 August 1488 Eleonora wrote again to Battista Bendedei in response to three letters he had sent on 4, 7, and 12 of August about the cross.236 By this point it had become a larger matter and caused King Ferrante, Eleonora and Alfonso’s father, to become involved. Eleonora responds that she has accepted the reprimands from the king, like an obedient daughter, but she continues to stress that they had purchased the jewel because they did not want it to pass into the ‘hands of other merchants.’237 Eleonora states that she will return the jewel to the Duchess of Calabria on the condition that she receives a testimony from Count Guido di Guidoni and Francesco Galiotto, as well as an explanation from Ippolita, clarifying why they should not have bought the jewel and why the Gondi should not have sold it. It seems that there may have been a question about whether the cross was sold legally, in reference to pawning procedures. Little is known about Guido di Guidoni, but Francesco Galiotto served at the Neapolitan court in the capacity of soldier, advisor, and diplomat and he also appears as humanist and a procurer of antiquities for Lorenzo de’ Medici as well a Milanese informer.238 Francesco Galiotto

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had also been praised in the correspondence because he had shown affection towards Eleonora as well as her son, who was resident in Naples.239 Eleonora, who evidently understood that Ferrante, Alfonso, and Ippolita were all perfectly capable of stretching the truth when needed, felt inclined to get a clear understanding of the situation of the cross from various viewpoints.240 She had also received information from Battista Bendedei on 10 January 1487 that remarked on Ippolita’s monetary problems and thus may have had some doubt about the situation.241 Eleonora’s letter to Battista of 22 August 1488 makes it clear that she was not happy with the treatment she received. She states that Battista is to tell Alfonso that the words he used not only against her, but also against her husband, were unacceptable. Eleonora then proceeds to say that she will return the jewel through Giuliano Gondi as she has been asked by the king, but she would have rather been asked much more ‘lovingly’ by Alfonso, as is customary between brother and sister.242 It also appears that the king had asked Eleonora to return it as ‘a gift,’ to which she replies that she has already spent 300 ducati on ‘vedri’ for Alfonso, and the general tone of the letter suggests that she is unwilling.243 Furthermore, Eleonora clearly restates her case, asking Battista to tell Alfonso that if he thinks that she is returning it because of fear or threat she would ‘sooner toss it around a bit and break it in a hundred pieces.’244 On 25 August 1488, Eleonora writes to Battista Bendedei in response to four letters he had sent her on 13, 14, 18, and 19 August that detailed the severe illness of Ippolita, and subsequently her death on 19 August. Eleonora had thus written the previous letter of 22 August about the cross before the news of Ippolita’s death had reached her.245 Finally on 5 September 1488 we have a letter from Alfonso to Eleonora, claiming that Giuliano Gondi has arranged that Alfonso will pay Eleonora for the cross, which belonged to ‘the good memory of the Quon Illustrissima Duchessa my consort’ and he urges her to send it as soon as she can.246 Alfonso’s letter uses Ippolita’s death as impetus for the restitution of the cross, but it can also be seen in light of how such jewels represented individuals, and would have been important as a memory of the deceased.There is another document that most likely relates to the cross, demonstrating that Ippolita also urged Lorenzo to become involved, three years previously. On 2 March 1485, Ippolita Sforza wrote to Lorenzo de’ Medici asking him for some help in relation to some jewels she had pawned –​some pearls and a bejewelled cross –​for 2,000 ducati to ‘Joanni et Raneri Scolari.’247 It was not uncommon for jewels to transfer from one firm to another if debts needed to be paid, or funds transferred; the exact connection between the Gondi and the Scolari brothers is not particularly clear, but there was certainly a transferral of the cross from the Scolari to the Gondi at one point. While Ippolita could have owned a

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number of crosses, it is also not unreasonable to propose that a cross that she had pawned to the Scolari brothers locatable in Florence in 1485, may have been the same one to end up with the Gondi in 1488. In Ippolita’s first letter to Eleonora, mentioned previously, she had noted that it was the Scolari that the cross had been pawned through, not the Gondi. Three years was not an abnormally long period to have a jewel held in pawn, as is clear from the king’s Il Davit already mentioned, which the Strozzi Bank had in Florence also for three years. The example of the cross demonstrates the numerous individuals involved in the pawning of one item –​Ippolita who pawned the cross to the Scolari firm; the transferral of the cross from the Scolari to Antonio Gondi and then upon Antonio’s death to Giuliano Gondi; the purchasing of the cross by Eleonora and Ercole through the Gondi; the complications resulting in the pawn and the consequent deliberations between the Ferrarese ambassador, Ferrante, Alfonso, Ippolita, Eleonora, as well as Guido di Guidoni, Francesco Galiotto, and Lorenzo de’ Medici; and finally the individual, perhaps the cardinal, who was to bring the jewel down to Naples. The incident of the crocetta was not the first instance in which correspondence between the Gondi, Eleonora, and Alfonso was initiated through the pawning of objects. On 15 January 1487 Eleonora wrote to Battista Bendedei in Naples about 2,300 ducati worth of silver she had pawned for Alfonso and notes that the loan would have to be repaid by April of that year if the pawned silver was to be returned.248 There was also another incident in July 1488, just before the issue of the cross, where the Queen of Naples, Giovanna d’Aragona, had received jewels from an agent working in Modena, a certain ‘Massaro de Modena.’ The jewels were apparently contraband, and Eleonora oversaw smoothing over the situation.249 These letters demonstrate that the circulation of precious goods instigated a complex web of negotiations and that objects were often sites of latent political tensions and hostilities, and that object knowledge was also essential in recognising whose goods you were buying or if they were legitimate. BETWEEN COMMODITY AND SÉMIOPHORE: CONCLUSION

The analysis of lettucci, gems, and jewels in this chapter emphasises the ways in which the movement and circulation of objects not only bring value to those objects, but also illuminates what is at stake in them. That is, whether an object is exchanged as a gift, commodity, or pawn, intermediaries are involved, all of whom may have different stakes in the things themselves. Studying the biographies of objects and their movements is a way to understand what those objects might mean and what work they perform for a certain society.

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Krzysztof Pomian has examined the ways cultures single out certain things as ‘sémiophores’ –​objects that are harbourers of meaning and signification –​ and he makes a distinction between the visible and the invisible, that is to say, between objects that are useful or utilitarian (objets utiles) and those that are meaningful, outside utility (sémiophores, ‘objects qui n’on point d’utilité’). For Pomian it is the meaningfulness of objects that is the basis for their exchange value for collecting, and their preciousness is due to the fact that they represent the invisible, the symbolic.250 Like Pomona’s sémiophores, Igor Kopytoff uses the term ‘singularization’ to denote those things that have been categorised by a culture as symbolic, often outside commodity exchange.251 The singularisation of goods often leads to two different systems of value:  that of the marketplace versus the symbolic significance of an object. This is most apparent in items such as heirlooms or other cultural artefacts that have specific symbolic and social meaning, and these two systems of value often put pressure on the owner as well as the object itself, as the individual tries to negotiate between these two sets of values. Objects thus become sites of contention because they occupy a place where these different sets of values battle it out. These two spheres are evident in the fifteenth century, but are certainly not as distinct as Pomian or Kopytoff make out. As demonstrated, cultural objects constantly moved in and out of the commodity phase in the late fifteenth century, largely due to political and economic instabilities. This constant oscillation between commoditisation and singularisation is perhaps the defining factor of many early modern objects, and their value is embedded in this paradox. Indeed, when Filarete discusses gems with his noble patron in the Trattato di Architettura, the relationship between gift giving and commerce is highlighted, underlining the anxiety and tension around these gems. On the one hand, they were seen as repositories of knowledge and thus were not to be sullied by any monetary assessment, and on the other, they were extremely expensive objects, which had a practical use, functioning as pawns for loans. After referring to the fact that Piero di Cosimo de’ Medici had spent ‘enough’ on his famous collection of gems, Filarete notes: Do not be amazed, my lord, that these people have spent so much, for when you enjoy the dignity of these things, do not doubt at all that you will admit to me that you have had greatest pleasure from them too. They have a certain grace that I  cannot explain, but when a man begins to enjoy them, he understands them and derives great pleasure from them. No one can have great pleasure from a thing if he does not first understand it.252

Filarete makes sure to link knowledge with possession, pleasure with understanding, and thus confers legitimacy to the high price of these items.

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This alerts us to the ways in which these objects operated within differing systems of value. Some of these systems bear resemblance to modern economic exchange, but alongside these, there existed other forms of exchange that operated very differently. The term and category of commodity is thus not particularly useful for understanding the multiple positions early modern objects occupied. Singularisation is often linked to time, that is, objects that are tied to the past and are therefore rare, such as antiquities. However, it is worth stressing that although antiquities had a great deal to do with ‘possessing the past’ to use Paula Findlen’s term, and were linked to forms of cultural memory embedded in antiquity, part of the appeal of these objects was that their biographies were not completely made, but were still in the making.253 Such fascination was entrenched in the paradoxical notion that they were symbolic things (sémiophores), precluded from the neutrality of commodity exchange, yet at the same time, their value was interrelated with their ability to gain biographies by passing through hands of illustrious owners, which happened during their commodity phase. Through the purchasing, collecting, and viewing of these objects, individuals were able to partake not only in the ‘making’ of the histories of objects, but also in their own biography making. The inability to pay back a loan or the selling of prized possessions, however, also points to the less desirable aspects of biography making –​the loss of reputation and the stigma of notoriety. The form and function of particular objects was linked to the ways in which they act symbolically and how they engage with viewers. A large piece of furniture such as the lettuccio would take up a prominent place in a household, and as a daybed, it was often used for individuals to lie on when they were sick and receiving visitors, as is referenced in the woodcut of Savonarola’s Predica dell’arte del bene morire (Figure 8). The function of the lettuccio, in such a case, promoted conversation between the visitors and the sick individual. But as an object embellished with artistic decoration, whether intarsia or painted spalliere, it would also elicit discussions about its artistic qualities. When worn, gems and jewels like the lettuccio had a close relationship to the body and partook in the performance of social life and rituals. Ownership of gems was linked to temporality:  they were often only possessed for a limited amount of time. One way of fixing the circulatory nature of these objects was to depict, copy, or imitate them in another visual media. This translation in visual form opens new ways of viewing these possessions; if one could not own the object itself, one could still participate in knowledge of the object by viewing its copies. This situation suggests that artistic invention and inspiration were also crucial aspects of the circulation of such objects, and that owning different copies was also a significant component of collecting. Objects circulated frequently in the early modern period

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through a variety of means as commodities, pawns, and gifts. Their identities were often formed or transformed through these exchanges, and gave rise to multiple translations. These objects –​commissioned lettucci, pawned jewels, collected antique gems –​all generated further interests in similar objects, and initiated, complicated, and solidified relationships across political, social, and geographical boundaries.

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THREE

INTERTEXTUALITY AND COLLECTION AT THE COURT OF FERRARA: ROBERTI’S DIPTYCH

INTRODUCTION

In September 1479 Paulo Antonio Trotti, the Ferrarese ambassador, wrote to Eleonora d’Aragona, Duchess of Ferrara about his visit with Duke Giangaleazzo Maria Sforza of Milan. Trotti reported on the duke’s famous jewel, Il Spigo, once belonging to Eleonora’s grandfather, King Alfonso I d’Aragona of Naples and then continued to describe other objects he encountered on his tour of the palace: Yesterday [the duke] showed me all of his jewels [in his camera] which are all things certainly stupendous, and he also showed me many gold saints […] and other animals all in gold which are worth many millions of ducati and today he let me see the medals containing his portrait and [that of] Duke Galeazzo, which are each ten thousand ducati […] Then [in the chapel] we saw xii large silver candlesticks which were bigger than two men and enormous and after [that] eight large silver saints and a cross and other candlesticks which were on the altar. I have never seen such fine and honourable things.1

Such a letter highlights the multiple types of objects that a visitor might interact with in interconnecting spaces of a palace. Another more well-​known letter from a Ferrarese ambassador, Antonio Montecatini to Eleonora’s husband, Duke Ercole d’Este, describes a visit to the Medici Palace with Giovanni d’Aragona (Eleonora’s brother) in August 1480: 112

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[Giovanni d’Aragona] then went to see the room where Cosimo [de’ Medici] lived […] where there were books and precious gems […] Then he went into the sala, where the deeds of Hercules could be seen […] He then was shown his [Piero’s] cappella and then entered the studio, the chamber that had belonged to Piero, and there he was first showed the said studio with copious quantities of books, which was a stupendous thing, all worthy, written with a pen. Then we returned to the little loggia opening off the study. And there on a table, he [Lorenzo] had brought his jewels […] vases, cups, hardstone coffers mounted with gold, of various stones, jasper and others. There was there a crystal beaker mounted with a lid and a silver foot, which was studded with pearls, rubies, diamonds and other stones. A  dish carved inside with diverse figures, which was a worthy thing, reputed to be worth four thousand ducati. Then he brought two large bowls full of ancient medals one of gold medals and the other full of silver medals, then a little case with many jewels, rings and engraved stones […]2

Both examples demonstrate a co-​existence of diverse objects in different, yet associated spaces, inviting the visitor or the collector to engage in a dialogue of comparison between those objects: religious and devotional imagery in the chapel; tomes adorning the library’s shelves; vases and beakers on display; and small, intimate gems and medals taken out of cabinets. More than a century later, the Venetian Jacopo Contareno would describe a similar cohabitation of objects in his own collections, underlining the fluid nature of these spaces: By the study I mean not only the room in which the books are to be found, but all those things contained in the four mezzanine rooms in which I ordinarily live. There are in these rooms exquisite things, beyond the belief of anyone who considers them well, such as manuscript and printed books, mathematical instruments, stones, secrets and other things, all of which have been gathered together by me with the greatest studiousness and care.3

This chapter examines how such spaces of display incited viewers to contrast, compare, and link texts, objects, images, and materials, which gave rise to new forms of deciphering and reading visual imagery in the fifteenth century. In particular, it takes as its focus Ercole de’ Roberti’s diptych (Plates III–​ IV), which belonged to the collections of Eleonora d’Aragona in Ferrara. The diptych, now in the National Gallery in London, is described in Eleonora d’Aragona’s 1493 inventory, taken after her death, as ‘a small altarpiece that closes like a book, covered in morello velvet with gilded silver fasteners and clasps, on one side a Nativity and on the other, a Christ at the sepulchre.’4 The left panel depicts the Nativity of Christ, accompanied by Mary, Joseph, and a shepherd, with the annunciation to the shepherds in the background. The right panel portrays Christ at the Sepulchre accompanied by two angels,

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with Saint Jerome to the left of Christ, Saint Francis receiving the stigmata on the distant plane above Christ’s head, and Calvary further in the background. Composed of numerous images, the diptych asks the viewer to assemble the multiple representations and the stories they recount to make meaning. Roberti’s diptych makes claims for vision and the senses, and its physical form as a book is examined in this chapter in connection with humanist texts and the penitential and ascetic preoccupations of Ferrarese religious institutions such as the Corpus Domini convent, that placed a special emphasis on the conflation of Word and Flesh. In addition, the diptych was connected to at least four other versions by different artists, revealing an interest in this particular subject matter. The diptych’s painting-​to-​painting, painting-​to-​sculpture, and painting-​to-​ text interchange is examined as giving rise to intertextuality. This intertextual reading can be compared to contemporary humanist understandings of fabula, paragone, and imitation, and will be considered in relation to the ways the diptych quotes, responds, and relates to other works.Thus, while collections acted as forms of assembly of objects and people, which incited conversation and had links to the production of knowledge, the objects themselves were also capable of engaging in a form of dialogue through intertextuality. The diptych can be understood to be a ‘courtly object’ as it was in the collections of the duchess and was connected to the artistic and humanistic culture of the court of Ferrara, but it ultimately engaged with matters outside the confines of the duchess’s apartments, which comprised larger cultural, social, religious, and political debates and concerns in the city of Ferrara. Eleonora d’Aragona was the daughter of King Ferrante of Naples and married Ercole d’Este, the last of the three rulers of Ferrara who were all sons of Niccolò III, the first Marquis of Ferrara: Leonello (1441–​50), Borso, 1st Duke of Ferrara (1450–​71), and Ercole I  (1471–​1505).5 Duke Borso was a respected general and held numerous condotte, and was largely responsible for restructuring the Ferrarese nobility by selling positions every year and creating a circle of individuals dependent on him for entitlements and distinction.6 During Borso’s reign, Ercole was sent to Naples to receive a humanist and military education, and to be protected from any local assassination attempts by contenders to the throne.7 In 1460, Ercole returned to Ferrara and gained a reputation in arms and politics, leading to his appointment as successor. While in the 1460s, Ercole took arms against his childhood companion King Ferrante d’Aragona of Naples by siding with the French, an alliance was sealed between Ferrara and Naples when Ferrante’s daughter Eleonora d’Aragona married Ercole in 1473. The Neapolitan-​Ferrarese alliance was to be beneficial for Ferrara, when in 1483–​84 Venice entered into war with Ferrara and the Este were assisted by Aragonese troops and their allies. The Venetians were not the only challengers to Este rule under Ercole, however. After Eleonora produced the first male heir (Alfonso d’Este) in 1476, Niccolò di Leonello (from another

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branch of the Este) attempted a coup, which was unsuccessful. Eleonora played a commanding role in the politics of Ferrara, and regularly acted as regent when Ercole was away or sick, which was fairly often.8 The Este were not completely independent as there was also a communal government in Ferrara, and although the Este were involved in the electoral processes of these institutions, the communal groups could act in opposition to the court.9 In addition, the Este ruled as papal vicars, a relationship that dated back to the fourteenth century. As such, Ferrara was under papal jurisdiction and ecclesiastical offices had their own hierarchical structure and political authority, something the Este often attempted to control.10 This relationship between the Este, the papacy, and ecclesiastical appointments gave rise to fraught relationships, leading Ercole d’Este to try to seek larger control over the election of ecclesiastical offices and to participate in religious life. Annual sacred rituals instituted by Eleonora and Ercole, for example, involved the solicitation of goods from the populace on the Feast of the Epiphany and the banquet for the poor on Easter, where Ercole, in the role of Christ at the Last Supper, provided food and clothes for those assembled. Important feast days were also marked by great processions through the streets of Ferrara, in which the Este partook, such as the Corpus Christi procession. Public festivals were largely dominated by ducal interference, including the postponing of religious ceremonies to permit Este involvement, or to coincide with visits from foreign dignitaries, to reflect the magnificence of the Este dynasty. There was also a revival of religious plays under Ercole and Eleonora, such as elaborate demonstrations of Passion cycles, first enacted in the court chapel, and later transformed into more public forms of spectacle for the citizens of Ferrara.11 Having spent significant time at the court of Naples, both Ercole and Eleonora brought numerous Neapolitan traditions with them, including many of the religious rituals mentioned as well as an avid interest in collecting. Both Naples and Ferrara attracted foreign artists and humanists alike, which gave rise to distinct styles, especially in Ferrara, exemplified by the work of Cosmè Tura and Ercole de’ Roberti. Ercole and Eleonora were both enthusiastic collectors and many of the objects in their collections spoke to humanist and political debates in Ferrara. Their collecting pursuits contributed to a particular collecting culture, which would influence their children, notably Alfonso and Isabella d’Este, who would both become renowned collectors of the next generation. Ferrara, of course, had a long tradition of collecting, as one of the first princely studioli belonged to Leonello d’Este, built in the 1440s at the pleasure palace of Belfiore. This chapter first examines the relationship between humanist texts, artistic production, and the social organisation of the court of Ferrara by looking closely at a text by Angelo Decembrio, De politia litteraria (On Literary

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Refinement) and what it reveals about the status of art and knowledge at court. Eleonora’s collections are then investigated, to reveal how the particular form of the Roberti diptych demanded a unique form of engagement. The reading of the diptych was dependent on other texts and images in Eleonora’s collections, which required assembly and is connected to concepts of fabula and intertextuality. Roberti’s diptych is also situated within the religious culture of Ferrara, and in particular the convent of Corpus Domini, where special emphasis was placed on the relationship between word and image. Finally, the diptych is examined in relation to a series of paintings with a similar composition, locating the panels within larger practices of imitation, quotation, and citation. THE PAINTING AND SCRIPTURA DEBATE: PARAGONE, SOCIAL POSITIONING, AND THE STATUS OF ART IN FERRARA

Ercole d’Este and Eleonora d’Aragona presided over a court well known as an established erudite, humanist centre, drawing in many artists, humanists, and literary figures. The types of discussions that took place around knowledge and learning, and the activities associated with these pursuits –​reading, writing, deciphering, quoting, debating, discussing, and looking –​are exemplified in a treatise by Decembrio, De politia litteraria, set in Ferrara in the 1440s but finished in the early 1460s. The text assumes the form of dialogues between learned courtiers, humanists, and Marquis Leonello, which take place at the Este palaces of Belriguardo and Belfiore and in Leonello’s private studiolo.12 Although Decembrio’s dialogue was set at the court of Leonello, it was dedicated to Borso d’Este in 1465, and has been seen as an indirect criticism of Borso’s rule, by providing the reader with examples of the ‘philological rigour’ of Leonello’s court with the now decadent and superficial display culture of Borso, where books were praised for their adornment over their content.13 These differences in approaches to learning and status are exemplified in Decembrio’s juxtaposition of a circle of learned Ferrarese humanists with the comical and ignorant, yet non-​fictional figure of Ugolino Pisani, who is presented as the quintessential embodiment of an individual seeking ennoblement through writing, but who holds none of the social or intellectual graces.14 Decembrio’s text illuminates what was at stake in collecting, not only for the prince or owner of the collection, but also for the visitors to the space, and the humanists and artists who contributed to the intellectual culture that the study embodied, through their texts and art objects collected there. While Castiglione’s Il cortegiano is often seen as a manual for understanding courtly etiquette and social behaviour, Decembrio’s work provides a better glimpse into fifteenth-​ century court culture, particularly for Ferrara.15 As Stephen Campbell has remarked, Castiglione’s book reflects the aristocratic

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values of a later time, when significant transformations had occurred to change attitudes and behaviours in the Italian courts and can be misleading if taken as a guide for understanding Quattrocento Ferrara and the art produced there.16 Christopher Celenza has underlined the importance of De politia litteraria as an ‘archive of documents, voices and cultural practices’ that provides insight into a variety of analytical perspectives, from the ‘philological to the social, from the literary to the political.’17 Decembrio’s dialogue, like any text however, needs to be read with a critical eye, particularly in relation to works of art, but it does provide a useful backdrop to situate the visual, material, and textual cultures of fifteenth-​century Ferrara. The text also needs to be contextualised within new attitudes towards collecting that were developing at this time alongside the emergence of a space dedicated to that specific activity –​the studiolo. The activities associated with collecting and the spaces attached to those pursuits were closely linked to power and status as well as the political configuration of the court and the larger city in which the court was located. These are issues that infiltrate Decembrio’s De politia litteraria, but they are also issues that pervade the works of art destined for the studioli at the court of Ferrara. Ferrarese humanistic culture raises a number of issues in relation to the role of the artist and the author, social mobility, and prevailing conceptions of art and its interpretations. Many of the concerns of the humanists centred on knowledge and the different forms that knowledge could take through painting or script. Rather than looking at this humanist interest as merely repeating the debate of the paragone or imitating earlier treatises such as those by Leon Battista Alberti, it is more useful to consider why it was taken up and what was at stake for those who engaged in this debate.18 Fifteenth-​century Ferrara saw a restructuring of the social organisation of the aristocracy implemented by the Este in attempts to secure political loyalty by constructing a circle of courtiers who were dependent on the court for privileges and entitlements.19 This was particularly evident under the rule of Borso d’Este, who created a new nobility, and these practices continued under Duke Ercole and Duchess Eleonora; like Borso, Ercole’s legitimacy to rule was in question, and Ercole facilitated social fluidity and political loyalty by allowing civic and court offices to be bought every year.20 Writing in 1460, the Ferrarese humanist Ludovico Carbone considered the nobility of art, remarking that painting was called mute poetry by the ancients, and that works of art produced under a prince’s rule reflected the prince’s virtue.21 The text aligns painting with poetry, stressing its liberal rather than manual practices, a theme that some of the characters in Decembrio’s text would not be so quick to extol. Carbone’s text, which defended the notions of virtue rather than lineage, had a particular social resonance, considering it was written during the reign of Borso d’Este.The social mobility under Borso inevitably formed contentious issues around new wealth and humanist treatises

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that spoke to the nobility of virtue rather than birth, dappled with some of the anxieties around culture and social positioning.These debates were to play out in the circles of authors and artists, whereby many took advantage of this social fluidity, and through their humanist writings or painterly expressions, rose to prominence.22 The particular emphasis on ingegno in these texts was neither new nor specific to Ferrara. At the end of the fifteenth century, Leonardo da Vinci’s Treatise on Painting famously took up this debate, claiming that painting indeed should be considered a science, and that the transmission of knowledge could be achieved through the eyes.23 In Ferrara, the emphasis on ingegno was an attempt to underline the creative and noble faculties of art and therefore align painting with poetry. However, many humanists criticised certain artistic practices as mere opulence and adornment and condemned artists for seeking to display ingenium through excessive gesture, although many artists did not follow the advice of the humanists, and employed extreme theatrical poses and unrealistic proportions. Ferrarese artists employed these devices, not because they were ignorant of humanist treatises, but because they pointedly engaged with those treatises, making claims for the position of the artist, drawing on cultural and religious practices such as the theatre and religious spectacle, and choosing different ways of rendering bodies because the subject matter called for it. Indeed, as Campbell has argued, the particular laborious qualities in the work of Tura and his circle make explicit artistic craft, something rather different to the courtly art that emerged in the sixteenth century, which attempted to conceal itself as art.24 Visual imagery in Ferrara thus should be seen as dialogic; the works are analogous to humanist texts, taking up debates, answering them, and contributing to the intellectual community, not merely as reflections of intellectual discourse, but as agents that engage with that discourse. The differentiation between liberal and manual practices, especially in relation to writing was played out in the discussion around the position of the scribe. In Decembrio’s text, the comical character Pisani makes a number of social and cultural blunders, but most importantly for the purposes of this chapter, he is ridiculed for confusing writer (scriptor) with copyist (librarius).25 What was criticised was his conflation of the manual scribe, who merely copied texts and made them beautiful through adornment, with the figure of the author, who had the intellectual capacity to compose and interpret texts.26 Similarly, the text criticises the clumsiness of painters ‘who make quite as many mistakes as scribes and copyists do’ singling out wall paintings and ‘those tapestries from Transalpine Gaul you see hung on walls’ noting that ‘there is much skill in this kind of work, but the weavers and designers are far more concerned with opulence of colour and a frivolous charm of the tapestry than with the method or science of painting.’27 What was at stake was the

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lack of science or application of intelligence and an unnecessary attachment to adornment and opulence. It is important to underline that Decembrio’s text is a conversation and opens debates around the place of art and adornment, rather than simply stating one particular voice or stance on these matters. Indeed, these were concerns that were hardly settled but were being defined and redefined at this time. For instance, one speaker in the dialogue underlines the importance of works of art in the formation of knowledge, stating ‘how seriously statues and pictures were taken by the ancients, particularly in their libraries.’The famous humanist Guarino also weighed in, stressing the importance of images by arguing ‘both painting and writing tend to one end:  the encouragement of learning and the desire for knowledge. It was for this reason that the Greeks and Romans often referred to both as scriptura.’28 Guarino thus argues that scriptura, a contentious and oft-​returned to issue, could also be applied to the visual arts if it was used in an intellectual way, leading to knowledge and learning. Similarly, Alberti, in his discussion of the historia in De re aedificatoria (not in the more famous passage of De pictura) equated literature and painting: ‘I look at a good painting […] with as much pleasure as I take in reading a good “historia.” Both are the work of painters: one paints with words, the other tells the story with his brush. They have other things in common: both require great ability and amazing diligence.’29 In De pictura, Alberti was not, however, content with the overt display of ingegno as he criticises artists who seek to demonstrate their intellectual skill through impossible poses or extreme gestures.30 Artists at the Ferrarese court such as Cosmè Tura and Ercole de’ Roberti were aware of these debates and can be seen to play with notions of scriptura in their works. These artists did not often follow the advice of the humanists, employing extreme theatrical poses, unrealistic proportions, and ‘decorative linear elaboration,’ which served as a means to achieve a particular mark, an artistic identity, which drew parallels between the lines of painting/​drawing with those of script.31 Tura, for instance, employs a ‘calligraphic line’ to signal this relationship to writing, as well as constituting a form of signature particular to the artist.32 This linearity, however, as has been argued by scholars such as Campbell and Luke Syson, was tied to the role Tura and Roberti had as leading court artists, who were responsible for not only paintings, but were designers of the material culture of the court, from bed canopies and banners to the renowned silverware services displayed on the ducal credenza. Such an expressive line, which stresses individual style and personal creative ingegno, ironically (at least to a modern reader) was expected to be copied, translated across media in metalwork, ceramics, stone, tapestries, manuscript illumination, and architectural motifs.33 Artists working in Ferrara thus engaged and contributed to humanist and artistic debates as well as an emerging collecting culture, while the particular

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demands of working for a court also required collaborative working practices and the flexibility to work across media. We thus see two conflicting models –​ individuality and collectivity –​which play out, on the one hand, in Ferrarese humanist culture, which placed emphasis on individuality (celebrated, for instance, in the competition between Pisanello and Jacopo Bellini), and on the other, collectivity and collaboration, which required different forms of emulation (from using model books within a workshop to the translations of designs across media by a variety of skilled artists and craftsmen). Numerous artists appear in the court account books, but certain artists such as Cosmè Tura who was then succeeded by Ercole de’ Roberti, stand out as ‘court artists,’ employed to lead artistic production and style at court. As court artists, they were prized for their powers of invention, and this was closely connected to their dexterity in drawing, which was also connected to disegno, fantasia, and intelletto. The entire collaborative enterprise, however, was also seen to be a reflection of the prince, as Sabadino degli Arienti, in his treatise on the virtues of Duke Ercole d’Este, noted that the famous fresco cycles painted by the ‘optimo pictore’ ferrarese were reflections of the duke’s ingegno.34 The relationship between an authorial line or mark and collaborative outputs belonged to a particular set of practices that are incompatible with a modern understanding of artistic production and a single authorial voice. It is important that these practices are kept in mind when looking at works of art in Ferrara as they help to explain what appear to be irregularities, inconsistencies, and even paradoxes to the modern eye. Artists such as Tura and Roberti were responsible for individual panel paintings as well as leading the team of painters who whitewashed walls and painted bookshelves green in Eleonora’s studioli during renovation work. Artistic production thus intersected but also diverged with humanist theories on authorship. THE STUDIOLO AND ELEONORA D’ARAGONA’S COLLECTIONS

Ferrara was home to one of the first princely studioli, which contained a pictorial programme discussed and celebrated by humanists, composed of a series of paintings depicting the nine Muses executed by Cosmè Tura,Angelo da Siena, among other artists. As Campbell has argued, the Muses can be considered as a metaphor for the cultural practices connected with the studiolo: the celebration and studying of antiquity, humanist pedagogy, the relationship between painting and poetry, the viewing and contemplation of images, and princely self-​cultivation.35 The studiolo was therefore not restricted to literary activities, but a material and visual relationship with antiquity and knowledge. The objects on display and the pictorial programmes such as the Muses, also hint at the ambivalences of the activities associated with the studiolo –​the anxieties around display, ornament, and the seductiveness of the arts. The Muses with

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their implicit female sexuality also set up an assumed male spectator, something Eleonora d’Aragona and Isabella d’Este would have to contend with in their pursuits of building their own studioli.36 Primary sources have often led scholars to underline the study as a male space, where the boundaries of the studiolo were constructed along social boundaries and where access and ownership were closely associated with gender, education, and social status.37 Rulership and political positions, however, could be granted to women in the courts, and many daughters of marquises, kings, and dukes, received a humanist education with their brothers to prepare them for regency. Court consorts, such as Eleonora d’Aragona, Ippolita Sforza, and Isabella d’Este, collected precious objects and maintained studioli, which suggests we need to reconsider the studiolo as strictly a male space and re-​evaluate it with both genders in mind. Many of the written sources also indicate that the studiolo is an ideological construct, much like the court, it should be seen as an ideal rather than a real.38 That is, there is a difference between the imagined ideal space of the studiolo, on the one hand, often referred to in literary texts as a male, erudite space, where knowledge is sought through contemplation, and on the other hand, the real space, that is occupied by living bodies, touching, perusing, and engaging with objects on display; connected to sociability within the space and outside it; and in some cases, revealing anxieties about the possession of those goods. The ambivalence of what the studiolo ought to do and how one should interact with the objects and visual images adorning it was intricately related to the contradictory nature of the space: the study as a location for private devotion or contemplation and the study as a social space, in which intellectual ideas are engaged with and exchanged.39 These two notions are also brought out in the literature on collecting –​the tendency to view the studiolo as humanistic and attached to ideas, reading, and intellect, or that of the studiolo as a place for social exchanges and sumptuary display. Both trajectories risk losing sight of the objects, locating the studiolo and its practices in the history of ideas on the one hand, and on the other, finding the birth of the self, the modern individual, and the roots of capitalism and materialism in the consumption practices of acquisition.40 Visual imagery from the period often stresses the contemplative and religious aspect, reflected in depictions of the evangelists and Saint Jerome, where the study is seen as a means of retreating from the public and political aspects of life, and a place for contemplation and religious devotion. Written records, particularly ambassadorial reports and letters such as those that opened this chapter, however, tend to stress the more public dimensions of the study, as a space for social and scholarly exchanges where one displays intellectual capacities, artistic knowledge, and erudition. There was also certainly a political dimension, exemplified through portraits representing political acquaintances and networks, through the display of

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diplomatic gifts, or through the accumulation of items once owned by famous individuals. Throughout the 1480s and 1490s Eleonora d’Aragona was involved in large renovation projects for her living quarters, which extended across two areas –​ her apartments located in a garden addition to the rear of the Castel Vecchio and her apartments in the Castel Vecchio. Eleonora’s architectural projects and most of her artistic commissions can no longer be identified, and her garden apartments, which contained a studiolo, a chapel, an oratory, among other rooms, all lavishly painted with frescoes, have been destroyed and are no longer visible in modern-​day Ferrara. Sabadino degli Arienti, in his description of the now lost buildings, remembered fondly Eleonora’s use of her garden, which was used both as a private space for her family, and as a more public place to receive visitors including ambassadors as well as the site of the performance of Plautus’ Menaechmi staged for Ludovico Sforza.41 The garden in close proximity to the studiolo brings to mind the classical relationship between art and nature, and in particular Pliny’s conflation of grotto and museum, and may have influenced her daughter Isabella d’Este’s collecting spaces that comprised a studiolo and a grotta.42 Eleonora’s apartments in the Castel Vecchio, which occupied the Torre Marchexana, also contained a studiolo, an oratory, a chapel, and a number of reception rooms that were often used to host important visitors. These suites of rooms were also decorated with frescoes or adorned with tapestries, but no longer survive as they were.43 Eleonora’s renovations to both suites of apartments involved the hiring of many artists to decorate the rooms, including work done by Ercole de’ Roberti, Giovanni Trullo, Cosmè Tura, and Gian Francesco de Maineri.44 The lavishness of these decorations is indicated by a detailed description of her balcony near the Torre Marchexana in the Castel Vecchio, which connected some of her rooms, including the studiolo and oratory (a similar organisation still visible at Urbino). The balcony was painted by Trullo with a large view of her natal Naples, including a depiction of a giraffe and would have reminded her and her guests of her status as the daughter of the King of Naples, and may have even been visible from the street. Inventories and account books reveal that Eleonora had a large and substantial collection of art objects, which was predominantly religious in subject matter, ranging from small devotional items such as sculptures of saints, gold and silver pace, to numerous small altarpieces (ancone) made from a variety of materials, in gold, silver, ivory, and copper, as well as painted works (for partial transcriptions of her inventories see the appendix). She also owned a significant collection of crosses, varying in size and materials, from crystal to gold, and engraved with biblical scenes and encrusted with jewels. Her accounts list numerous agnus dei and rosary beads, many wrought in expensive materials, and a noteworthy collection of jewels, cameos, and rings.

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Among the paintings listed in her inventory are two paintings by Mantegna, a Christ by Bellini, Flemish paintings of the Madonna, three images of the Maries, a large number of Madonnas and depictions of Christ, and numerous images of religious figures ranging from the Magi and saints to representations of the Last Supper.45 Her account books also list commissions for paintings by artists such as Cosmè Tura, Ercole de’ Roberti, and Gian Francesco Maineri.46 Her collection of sculpture consisted of a number of saints, including Saints James, Jerome, Sebastian, Anthony of Padua, as well as a Nativity, and various Pietà, all in white marble, while a sculpture of Saint George is described with feet made out of diamonds. In addition, she collected reliquaries and relics that would have stressed the bodily and material associations of the saints. She had many tapestries depicting religious scenes ranging from images of Christ and the Madonna to King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. Her inventories also list various mirrors, vases, flasks, and ceramics, from maiolica to Chinese porcelain.47 Many of these decorative items contain the arms of political figures and the arms of the commune of cities such as Siena, Florence, and Bologna, thus underlining her political role and her diplomatic connections across Italy.48 The duchess’s collections indicate a predilection for diptychs, as her inventories contain numerous references to diptychs in a variety of materials, and the form also appears in the collections of her husband, Ercole d’Este. An inventory taken after Eleonora’s death in 1493 lists at least four diptychs. The first two were carved:  one was listed as ‘an altarpiece that closes with two doors made of bone and ivory, carved and gilded with many figures in relief ’ and another, ‘an altarpiece in bas-​relief that closes in two parts with a Christ and Our Lady and Saint John.’49 The last two entries referencing the diptych form are very similar to each other.The second references the Roberti diptych (‘a small altarpiece that closes like a book, covered in morello velvet with gilded silver fasteners and clasps, on one side a Nativity and on the other, a Christ at the sepulchre’) and the first describes a very similar work, but without reference to its book-​like qualities: ‘a small altarpiece that closes with a Nativity on one side and a Christ at the Sepulchre on the other side.’50 In another inventory of Eleonora’s collections, more diptychs are listed, including one that was described as a ‘small gilded silver altarpiece with the whole Passion of Our Saviour on one side, and on the other the Nativity of Our Saviour,’ encrusted with precious gems, with two more relief images depicting a Madonna carved in the form of a cameo and a Christ, which together composed the outer doors of the diptych.51 Other diptychs in Eleonora’s collection included: a ‘very tiny, small, small gold altarpiece, with a Madonna dressed in red with a Christ in her arms and on the other side a cross’; ‘a small altarpiece in gold’ that opened in two parts, containing a Pietà on one side and on the other a Madonna with child and Saint Catherine, with two other saints on the outside panels;52 and finally a ‘small altarpiece made out

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of silver that opens in two parts’ depicting a Saint George on one side with a Madonna and Child and two angels on the other.53 Eleonora also had a noteworthy library composed mostly of religious texts, but which also included works dedicated to her and written for her, as well as important secular works by Fazio degli Uberti, Petrarch, Pliny, and Caesar, written in French, Latin, and Italian (see the appendix for the complete inventory of her library). The spiritual books comprised at least four works by Jerome, texts by later saints and preachers, such as Saint Bernardino, Saint Francis, Fra Roberto, and Saint Catherine of Siena as well as a few works on the lives of the Saints and the Desert Fathers.There are also numerous texts on spirituality, from sins and confession to spiritual discipline. Also listed are texts written by nuns, one of which was written by a sister of the Corpo di Christo, probably Caterina Vegri, an important Bolognese saint discussed further in this chapter. Furthermore, she had a large number of books intended specifically for devotion, including messali, Books of Hours, breviaries, and Bibles. Many of the books are described as illuminated and bound with expensive textiles, some of which depicted the Madonna or similar images on the covers. Her collection of books reveals a tendency towards the penitential and disciplinati practices popular in Ferrara at the time, and alludes to a particular reverence for these forms of spirituality and devotion, paralleling the works of art she commissioned and collected. Her account books and inventories thus reveal a wide range of objects, which would have been spread out across a series of spaces. The inventories are organised by category of goods rather than rooms, and thus give us little detail on where or how her collections were displayed and housed. The constant reference to works being borrowed, used, leant, and moved in her account books such as AP 638, as discussed in this book’s introduction, suggests the permeability of boundaries and spaces. While she had at least two studioli, she also had numerous rooms and oratories in any of which her religious images, books, and objects could have been used and displayed. The particular format of the Roberti diptych, and a general preference for diptychs, suggests an interest in works that were mobile, as these items could be easily closed and transported, an important component in their interpretation and use. FOLDING IMAGES: ENGAGING WITH THE DIPTYCH FORM

A predilection for diptychs in Ferrara may have been influenced by the interest of the Este in emulating the princely magnificence of the Burgundian Court, where the diptych form was popular, in addition to the Este’s interest in Northern artists, such as Rogier van der Weyden and Jan van Eyck. This is evident in a portrait of Leonello d’Este’s illegitimate son Francesco, who was

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sent to the Burgundian court to be educated. While there, he was painted by Rogier, who included a coat of arms and an inscription on the reverse of the portrait.54 In addition to the diptychs in Eleonora’s collections, numerous diptychs appear in an inventory of Ercole d’Este that depicted a range of religious figures such as Christ, the Madonna, and various saints as well as secular portraits, including a ‘panel that opens in two parts with a gold cornice’ depicting the Duke and Duchess of Milan. Ercole also owned a ‘panel in the form of a book’ depicting Julius Caesar in a gold frame.55 The word diptych was not the term used in the early modern period, rather, descriptions in archival sources refer to the physical structure of the object, such as ‘a panel consisting of two pieces,’ ‘a panel with two leaves,’ ‘a small altarpiece that opens in two parts,’ or in the instance of the Roberti diptych, ‘a small altarpiece that closes like a book.’56 The reference made to a book is not surprising considering that in late antiquity the terms diptychum and diptycha were employed to describe a piece of writing on parchment or paper folded in two, as well as writing tablets joined together.57 In late medieval and Renaissance devotional practices, particularly in the north, the diptych had a strong correlation to Books of Hours, while the diptych form was also prevalent in narrative French Gothic ivories.58 The small nature of personal devotional diptychs and the ability to close them provided protection from general wear and tear, and lent to their very versatility in use. Some diptychs were hung from the ceiling, suspended by a chain, while others were stored in chests and were taken out and placed on an altar during Mass on special occasions, serving as portable altarpieces.The form allowed for diverse functions in use and often one diptych could serve several different purposes in its social life. For instance, in the second half of the fifteenth century, the composer Guillaume Dufay inherited a diptych from Simon le Breton depicting the Virgin with an accompanying portrait of Simon. In 1474, Dufay bequeathed the diptych to Cambrai Cathedral where it was to be placed on the altar in Saint Stephen’s chapel on the days of Dufay’s and le Breton’s deaths and on feast days, where it would complement Dufay’s sculpted epitaph in the same chapel. As Hugo van der Velden has noted, within the span of a few years the diptych had not only changed hands three times, but also function and location: originally it had served Simon as a devotional painting; it then provided Dufay with a portrait and memento of a deceased friend; and finally it served as an epitaph and a liturgical device in Cambrai cathedral.59 Other examples confirm multiples uses, such as the Diptych of Josse van der Burch in the Fogg Art Museum, first used in personal devotion, and then later installed over van der Burch’s tomb after his death, thus serving as devotional object, tomb marker, and memorial.60 An ex voto by the Ferrarese artist Gian Francesco Maineri depicts a diptych displayed next to a sick man in bed and would have been seen by visitors

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and likely used by them, underlining the numerous ways with which these images would have been engaged.61 The multiple functions of diptychs highlight the portability and versatility of such objects, exemplified by textual and visual sources. Margaret of Austria’s inventories reveal multiple locations for her diptychs, and suggest different uses in different contexts. Margaret’s apartments comprised various rooms, including a chapel, a library, a study, and a separate room to house precious objects, and offers a northern equivalent to Eleonora’s apartments and collections. Her inventories reveal that eight of her eleven diptychs were to be found in a ‘seconde chambre à chemynée,’ probably Margaret’s stately bedroom, as well as in the adjoining ‘petit cabinet,’ which was most likely a study. The remaining three diptychs are listed without any references to their specific location, and may indicate that they were moved around, serving multiple functions in various locations.62 Andrea Pearson has argued that devotional diptychs were employed not only in secluded private spaces, but rather functioned as a means to assist devotees in bringing their ‘personal worship into the public arena’ and thus were predominantly of male supplicants, Margaret’s presenting an anomaly.63 As exemplified by the diptychs of Simon le Breton and Josse van der Burch, diptychs could serve more personal forms of devotion, as well as later performing more public roles as tomb markers and liturgical devices. Even when used as personal devotional objects, diptychs could serve as bearers of social status in terms of ownership and display.64 The well-​known manuscript illumination depicting Philip the Good at Mass, for example, reveals the use of a diptych in a partially enclosed space, and yet visible to those attending Mass.65 The diptych placed above the Book of Hours in the secluded space depicts a Madonna on the left and a kneeling figure on the right wing, presumably Philip. The image characterises what Pearson has understood to be a less rigid divide between public and private in the period, whereby personal devotion was not necessarily private, but rather hinged on more public forms of worship where devotions took ‘place within the visual range of others.’66 The image of Philip the Good also supports the idea that Books of Hours and devotional diptychs were intended to complement one another and to function together.67 Diptychs carried a similar social function to Books of Hours, objects that served both a religious as well as cultural function, endowed with images that spoke to piety, style, prestige, and artistic knowledge. Both diptychs and Books of Hours could be transported at reasonable ease, and thus were moveable social signifiers. For instance, when Borso d’Este travelled to Rome in 1470 to be invested with the title of Duke of Ferrara, he brought along his famous Bible illuminated by Taddeo Crivelli and Franco dei Russi.68 Secular diptychs were also popular in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, where an image often appeared on the reverse, ranging from mottoes and coats

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of arms, to allegorical subjects and faux marble.69 Piero della Francesca’s famous double portrait of Duke Federigo da Montefeltro and Battista Sforza with the reverse depicting allegorical triumphs is a celebrated courtly example.70 The interior panels portray the Duke and Duchess of Urbino in profile, while the exterior depicts The Triumphs of Federigo da Montefeltro and Battista Sforza, where Federigo and Battista sit on triumphal carts accompanied by personifications of the virtues. In the background, the panoramic landscape continues from the interior panels, and at the bottom inscriptions praise the two individuals. The diptych as a whole, taking the inscriptions and triumphs on the exterior, with the portraits on the interior, has been interpreted in a number of ways, which are too varied to elaborate fully here. What is important is the way the four paintings and text function together to allow the viewer to construct meaning, and to engage with the diptych on both sides. Such double-​sided portraits can be compared to medals whereby a portrait of an individual is accompanied by an allegorical figure and motto on the reverse, objects that were certainly often found in collecting spaces and shown off to visitors, frequently to test their erudition.71 Similarly, a single portrait with a painting depicted on its reverse can be seen to function in a comparable manner to diptychs, as it has both a reverse and an obverse, and constitute two images that are meant to function together. Such paintings force us to ask what constitutes the frame. Where are the boundaries between the fictional world of the painting and the world of the viewer? As Victor Stoichita has observed, the painting on the obverse cannot be fully understood unless it is confronted with the image on the reverse.72 In the case of diptychs, when the panels are closed, it is often the exterior images that one sees first before the interior images are revealed, and thus the reverse images encourage the viewer to open and reveal the interior. A dialogue is thus formed between the outside and the inside, the reverse and the obverse; the work forces the viewer to engage with the two sides to comprehend the meaning of both images combined. Leonardo da Vinci’s famous portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci, for instance, is only fully conceptualised when one looks at the reverse depiction of a juniper and its accompanying Latin inscription ‘Beauty Adorns Virtue.’73 The identity of the sitter on the obverse is thus dependent on the image and script on the reverse, compelling the viewer to look at both sides and intimately engage with the object by piecing together the diverse components. Other reverses had more psychological or moral tendencies, depicting skulls or allegories, forcing the viewer to contemplate the transient nature of earthly life or to consider the moral virtues alluded to, in contrast to the portrait on the other side.74 These double images have led Stoichita to remark that the reverse becomes ‘another representation’ or a form of anti-​image, a parergon that posits itself outside or against the work, yet also integral to it. Such images function similarly to marginalia; far from being unimportant, they make the viewer more

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aware of the obverse representation, and are central to the understanding of the portrait.75 In the Roberti diptych (Plates III–​IV), the viewer is not confronted with a representation on the reverse, but rather, the exterior panels were covered with velvet, of which traces only survive.76 The velvet, in this case, operated in a similar manner to a reverse image, constituting something that was always attached to the experience of viewing the image and yet  also belonged to the exterior world. In particular, when the viewer opened the diptych ‘like a book’ and used it for personal worship, she (or he) would have touched the velvet on the reverse, while viewing the interior images.The velvet thus added another sensory component to the act of viewing. The importance of the senses in viewing the diptych will be elaborated upon later in this chapter, but for now, it is sufficient to note that the sensorial engagement played an integral role in reading the images in the diptych, referencing the penitential forms of devotion popular in Ferrara that placed an emphasis on the senses and the bodily experiences of devotion. Considering that the diptych was portable and may have been carried to, and viewed in, different surroundings, the exterior framing of the velvet was always part of the diptych; it served as the image’s continual background, and was integral to its mobility, allowing it to close and offering protection during travel. The velvet also marked the diptych as a precious object, worthy of a protective covering similar to the binding of a book. Indeed, many of the books listed in Eleonora’s library had velvet as their material coverings, and often in the same colour of morello as the diptych (a purple-​mulberry shade).The velvet may also be considered as a curtain, something that protects a precious object such as curtains placed before a cult image, which both concealed and revealed the sacred.77 The velvet on the diptych acted as a sort of veil, encompassing the diptych, and constituting a threshold between profane and sacred space.78 This veil or enfolding component also engaged with humanist discussions around fabula and the unveiling of truths. The Roberti diptych also played with humanist debates around scriptura, signalled by its book-​like form, but also through the presence of inscription, and the script-​like tendencies of line. Many elements in the right panel refer to qualities in the left panel, creating a dialogue between the two sides (Plates III–​IV).The Christ Child lies in a crib, near a manger, while Joseph, Mary, and a shepherd look on in adoration. The Dead Christ supported by angels on the edge of the tomb on the right panel takes the place of the infant Christ in the crib in the left panel –​the wicker crib has given way to the elaborate marble tomb. In opposition to the man-​made shelter of Christ’s Nativity, Saint Jerome occupies an ascetic cave, out of which he sees the suffering Christ, while Jerome’s foreshortened lion near the tomb mimics the foreshortened cow inside the manger.79 Saint Francis receives the stigmata from a faint

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seraph/​crucifix in the sky, which parallels the angel appearing to the shepherds in the same quadrant on the left panel.The sketchiness rendered in the painting of the three shepherds in the left panel is signalled again in the sketched crosses at Calvary on the right panel. The connection between the two scenes is brought out further, as Alfred Acres has observed, when the viewer becomes aware that the dark opening behind the shepherd on the left panel, seems to operate as the other end of the cave behind Jerome in the right panel, offering a corridor between Bethlehem and Calvary.80 The white detailing of the cloth around Christ’s crib sheet and Mary’s headscarf is taken up again on the white detailing of Christ’s delicate loincloth, emphasising that the quiet child in the manger will soon face his fate of Saviour, through death and resurrection from the tomb. This application of white, especially around the Christ Child’s crib, as well as the sketch-​like figures rendered in the distance, draw attention to the artist’s penmanship, similar to the linear contours and calligraphic lines that Campbell has characterised in Tura’s work. Such attention to linear qualities and script-​like forms provides an evocative parallel between the hand of the artist in his brushstrokes with that of the formulations of letters, and suggests an analogy between painting and writing.81 The diptych also places emphasis on vision and visions: the apparition of the angel to the shepherds, Christ appearing to Saint Jerome, and the vision of the crucifix in the stigmatisation of Saint Francis. Roberti inscribes the importance of vision, and in so doing, he also makes claims for vision thus stressing the importance of the artist and the necessity of the visual arts, especially in relation to depicting the mystical events of Christendom. The partly visible inscription on the tomb’s lid references the relationship of writing with painting. Roberti has rendered the inscription as a relief on the tomb, as if the surface of the painting has been punctured or carved away, re-​asserting an attention to the hand of the artist.82 Denise Allen has suggested that Eleonora’s thumb may have touched the name of Christ engraved on the tomb, and through touching it, Eleonora (or any viewer) would have made contact with the Word Incarnate, that is, a sacred relic of Christ.83 This contact between inscription and thumb, between painting’s representation and touch, would have been highlighted during the opening of the book-​like form, where the viewer would have felt the velvet on the outside with his or her fingers, and found their right thumb placed on the name of Christ on the tomb. If the inscription and the physical act of touching assert the primacy of the Word, they do so in ambiguous ways. That is, it is through the senses that the viewer interacts with the Word, alluding to the concept of the relic, and thus material forms of devotion. The placement of the inscription also sets up a paradox:  while it is there in the painting, it is only half there, causing the viewer unease in reading it, relegating the textual forms associated with

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writing and script to the border of the painting. Roberti has placed the text in such a way that it is cut off by the frame, remaining continually on the border of what is inside and outside the painting, and causing the viewer’s awareness to shift between his script-​like tendencies of rendering detail and the more sensory aspects of the painting that stress the physicality of the body, vision, and touch. Attention to the body is also emphasised in a number of ways. While the individuals in the left panel all close their hands in a supplicating prayer position, they are juxtaposed by Jerome, Jesus, and Francis on the right panel, who expose their bodies by their open-​handed gestures, bearing their chests to the viewer. Furthermore, the stigmata visible on Christ, which is then received in material form through the marks of blood on Saint Francis’s hands, emphasise the bodily transformations of devotion.These bodily experiences of veneration were also well known to the citizens of Ferrara who experienced the sights of saintly miracles in local spiritual figures, or through the spectacle of processions of confraternities who flagellated themselves.84 The transfiguration of the body through devotion, in the ascetic tradition, was seen as a direct link to the transformation of the body on the day of Resurrection, and thus provided a correlation between Jerome’s and Francis’s somatic experiences with Christ’s Resurrection.85 These material forms of devotion were prevalent in Ferrara, specifically in relation to the disciplinati and confraternal groups as well as the Corpus Christi. WORD AND FLESH: CATERINA VEGRI AND THE CORPO DI CHRISTO

An emphasis on the body of Christ in the Roberti diptych alludes to Eleonora d’Aragona’s involvement with the convent of Corpo di Christo, and the importance of the Eucharist –​the material form of Christ’s body –​which was the central focus for the convent. This association would have also reminded viewers of the Corpus Domini procession, one of the most important annual processions and festivals in Ferrara, when Eleonora and other prominent figures walked through the streets carrying the sacred host under a baldachin. Here the painting interplays with ritual, as religious practices are literally enfolded into the diptych. Many of the objects in Eleonora’s collection took the body of Christ as their subject matter, and thus had a close relationship with the religious traditions and practices associated with the Corpus Christi.86 The Corpo di Christo was an important convent of Clarissan nuns in Ferrara with which Eleonora had particularly close ties –​Eleonora commissioned an oratory for her use in the choir of the church of Corpo di Christo, as well as a cell, where she was noted to spend the night and it was in this church that she was buried. She also commissioned an altarpiece from Bruges for the convent, regularly gave alms, and was instrumental in the running and organisation of

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the annual Corpus Christi procession, which could often be a fairly complex political affair.87 The convent in Ferrara was closely affiliated with its sister Corpus Domini convent in Bologna, and specifically with the figure of Caterina Vegri.88 A particular emphasis on the relationship between word and image and the importance of the body of Christ are crucial aspects of the Corpo di Christo convents of Ferrara and Bologna and show a correlation to the Roberti diptych. Caterina Vegri, later canonised as Saint Catherine of Bologna, was educated at the Este court during Leonello d’Este’s rule. She entered the Corpo di Christo convent in Ferrara in the 1420s before being appointed to head the convent of Corpus Domini in Bologna in 1456, where she stayed until her death in 1463.89 Saint Catherine was both an artist and writer, responsible for producing many images and texts. It was through the process of writing and painting that Caterina evoked the transcendence of God, as Jeryldene Wood has argued.90 Wood has also noted that art and an attention to luxurious materials were particularly significant for female spirituality in the convent of Corpus Domini in Bologna. Caterina’s Le sette armi spirituali dealt with the spiritual weapons one could use to combat Satan and sin, and was copied at Caterina’s request and sent to the convent in Ferrara, where the treatise had been written. Throughout her life, the saint received many visions, and in one section of her text she describes how she had doubts concerning the divine presence in the Eucharist. She recounts she was visited by Christ who had explained the principles of transubstantiation, and from that moment on she longed for the spiritual nourishment of communion and made the Incarnation one of the centrepieces of her painting and writing.91 Caterina’s manuscript illuminations often conflate word and picture, whereby the text repeatedly flows into the decorations on the page, providing a fusion of text and image.92 In her biography of Caterina written in 1469, Illuminata Bembo noted that Caterina was educated at the Este court, and therefore Caterina may have had some familiarity with the humanist debates regarding painting and scriptura. In her treatise, written just after Caterina’s death, Illuminata Bembo describes Caterina’s now lost paintings in the convent in Ferrara: Gladly, in the books and in many places of the monastery of Ferrara she painted the Divine Word in swaddling clothes, and in painting him she often said with great tenderness: ‘I will take him by the band [of cloth] because he is the fire that wounds me deeply.’93

It is significant that Bembo directly references the Christ Child as the Divine Word, even when she is referring to Christ’s portrayal in the flesh. Eleonora, who as mentioned had an oratory and a cell in the convent in Ferrara would have surely seen these paintings and would have been aware of the emphasis on the relationship between Christ’s body and the Word.94 The text listed as a tract

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by a sister of Corpo di Christo in Eleonora’s library was likely Caterina’s, and there was a copy of Caterina’s text at the convent in Ferrara, which Eleonora might have had access to as well.95 Eleonora’s mother, Isabella Chiaramonte, Queen of Naples, also owned a copy of Caterina’s text and was similarly closely tied with Ferrara’s religious institutions.96 Ercole de’ Roberti who worked both at the courts of Ferrara and Bologna would have certainly been aware of the tradition, as the convents were prominent religious institutions, where Caterina Vegri, in particular, had obtained cult status. Roberti’s diptych emphasises the connections between Word and Flesh and text and image, issues with which Caterina and her followers were principally concerned. Roberti evokes these connections by depicting the two images of Christ, as a baby and as the wounded Saviour, in conjunction with an attention to the Word in the inscription on the tomb. This emphasis re-​asserts the material vestiges of Christ’s life celebrated through the Eucharist, which was an important aspect of the convent and the cult around Caterina. As an altarpiece, the displaying of Christ’s body by the angels on the tomb would refer to the celebration of the Eucharist on the altar, and would have thus underlined the doctrine of  Transubstantiation. The right panel of the diptych (Plate IV) stresses Christ as the cause of vision as well as spiritual and physical transformation. On the tomb, Christ serves as Saint Jerome’s vision in the desert, where Jerome is depicted with a rock used in penitential devotions, and the viewer is reminded that Jerome’s vision of Christ is the therapeutic consolation for his temptations in the desert. Saint Francis also reminds the viewer that it is through his meditations that he is physically transformed into the likeness of Christ through the stigmata.97 Both saints, in addition to the depiction of Christ, assert the transformative power of Christ’s body, carrying Eucharistic overtones. The attention given to Christ’s body makes explicit the passage in John 1:14 where the Word is made Flesh. The tradition of comparing Christ’s body to a manuscript or a text was a popular and established tradition in Italy. The Franciscan Jacopone da Todi writing in the late thirteenth or early fourteenth century observed: I run to the cross and read Its blood-​stained pages –​ This is the book that makes me A doctor of natural philosophy and theology. A book inscribed with golden letters And all abloom with Love.98

Girolamo Savonarola who was raised and educated in Ferrara states ‘take the crucifix for your book and read that.’99 This practice of understanding Christ’s suffering body and the crucifix as a book to read, in addition to the biblical tradition of seeing Christ’s body as the Word, asserts a conflation or at least an

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equal reverence for the Word and Image of Christ. Comparing the cross to the pages of a book resonates in a Ferrarese context where the debate between painting and poetry, image and script, was prevalent. A devotional diptych that engages with these issues and is in the form of a book, underlines the complex theological, Christological, and rhetorical implications of such an object. The diptych also highlights the sensory aspects of devotion, through sight, vision, and touch. Taste and sound could even play a role here, if the viewer is reminded of the taste of the Eucharist through the emphasis on Christ’s body, or the ringing of the bell suspended from the cave, near Christ’s tomb. Indeed, bells were used during the feast of the Eucharist, or Corpus Christi, when the pealing of bells announced the moment of the elevation, when the bread was transformed into Christ’s body, and thus consecrated.100 This sensorial experience was related to meditational devices explored in the works of Nicholas of Cusa, such as De visione Dei (1453), where the physical and mental experience of viewing an icon can lead to a better knowledge of God.101 In the art of memory, such multi-​sensorial approaches often activated by visual stimulation, were thought to provoke perambulations in the mind and were likened to a pilgrimage.102 These meditational and religious practices had a close overlap with intellectual traditions and were brought together in the diptych, and thus the way it was read and interpreted, as the viewer’s eyes ‘travelled’ from Bethlehem to Calvary, through the multiple stages and registers of the religious stories depicted. FABULA AND FORMS OF ASSEMBLY: PARAGONE AND THE INTERTEXT

The wide range of sacred objects in Eleonora’s collection suggests that many functioned both as devotional tools as well as art objects. Although these distinctions belong to modern categorisations, this duality heightened their spiritual qualities as well as aesthetic sensibilities. As we have seen, the Roberti diptych certainly spoke to religious practices and provided a complex reading within itself, but meaning could also be extended or transformed when it was considered alongside other objects. As Robert Kirkbride has argued in relation to the Montefeltro studioli, the significance of works could be multistranded and multilayered, in the sense that individual images might carry multiple meanings, depending on whether they were viewed alone or as part of an ensemble.103 The Roberti diptych thus needs to be examined, not only as an entity on its own, but also as an object that was part of a larger collection, participating in a dialogue with other objects, which gave rise to intertextuality. While it served as a devotional tool, the diptych was also a painting, which cited other paintings as well as texts. Dialogical relationships thus permeate the diptych: an intertext exists between the two panels, which encounter each other, constituting a dialogue between the birth and death of Christ. A dialogue is

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created between the main figure of the biblical narrative –​Christ –​and his encounters with later saintly individuals, Jerome and Francis. Connections are also established between the painting and other paintings in the collection and between the diptych and the texts in Eleonora’s library. Furthermore, a spiritual dialogue is at play, between God and the viewer, which constitutes the principle function of a devotional object –​as an aid to communicate with the Divine –​giving rise to a specific form of communion. In the larger intellectual and religious culture of Ferrara, belief and religious practice were open to interpretation and were engaged with through scholarly and intellectual activity.This is evident in the staged doctrinal debates on subjects ranging from the Conception of the Virgin Mary to the merits of Judaism and Christianity, which were supported and encouraged by Eleonora and Ercole.104 As a moveable object that operated both as a devotional tool as well as a work of art, the diptych’s function would be varied. The symbolic in the Christian story conveyed on its panels would have been read in a similar manner to the symbolic in myth. That is not to say that Eleonora’s religious paintings were interpreted as mythological paintings, but rather that the viewer of such images would have brought to the objects many of the same kinds of hermeneutic tools for interpretation that she or he would have used for interpreting paintings with symbolic mythological matter, often located in studioli. Interpretation was a central component in reading both visual imagery and texts and was a key issue of debate among humanists, related to the suitability of different types of texts depending on audience and in connection to this, it was often discussed in relation to history and fabula. A  section of De politia litteraria is dedicated to the understanding of history, where the distinction between stories (fabula) and writing historically (istoria) is discussed. Cicero noted that orators normally used the term historia for true events, while myths were often connected to fabula.105 Fabula was frequently used to refer to fiction as well as a story, most commonly associated with pagan mythology yet  also extending to Christian narratives.106 Rhetorical concepts such as integumentum (covering) and involucrum (wrapping) also came to be seen as important fabulous modes in arriving at truth.107 Giovanni Boccaccio explored the notion of fabula in his Genealogia, largely connecting it to pagan mythology and interpreting it as a veil.108 Boccaccio was arguing against previous thought that placed fabula as mere ornament and that saw it as a superficial tale in opposition to historia. Boccaccio draws from biblical writings to demonstrate that fabula is also part of the Holy Scriptures when he claims, ‘Christ who is God, used this sort of fiction again and again in his parables!’ and notes, ‘our Savior Jesus Christ, the Son of God, often used [this form of fiction] when He was in the flesh, though Holy Writ does not call it “poetry” but “parable” some call it “exemplum” because it is used as such.’109 For Erasmus, fabula could be connected to

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Christian narratives, such as the episode of Christ’s entry into Jerusalem, where it functioned like a drama.110 Myth and fable-​like narratives are thus seen as requiring deciphering or an unveiling. For Boccaccio, it is the poet who is equipped with the capacity to make intelligible complex truths, through the ‘veiling of truth,’ that is through the writing of poetry. This ornament, which is necessary for visualising the truth, for Boccaccio, is left too ambiguous and risks a false interpretation when it is extended into the works of artists.111 Mario Equicola, writing around 1508–​15, noted that painting was ‘more an activity or labor of the body than of the soul’ whose ‘purpose is to make the truth accessible to the visual sense’ whereas the poet ‘desires [to use] all of the disciplines, with figures, tropes, and meters to amaze the learned.’112 Nicholas of Cusa saw a contradiction in the idea that he could find Divinity veiled in a devotional image: ‘I have learnt that the place wherein Thou art found unveiled is girt round with the coincidence of contradictories, and this is the wall of Paradise wherein Thou dost abide.’113 These authors point to the conflict between painting and writing and underline the tension of embellishments or ornament, a common anxiety found in Ferrarese humanist discussions. Leonardo da Vinci’s Treatise on Painting attempted to bolster painting’s reputation by aligning painting with scientific principles, which were reflections of higher values. Painting was thus capable of transmitting knowledge of truth, carrying moral overtones. Leonardo claims that the notion of unveiling was an important component of the philosopher’s quest for truth, and the contemplative as well as active engagement with a work of art could be seen to achieve the same moral fulfilment as philosophical pursuits.114 It is the physical veil of a painting –​the elaborate and expensive coverings –​that Leonardo sees as indicative of the higher status of painting, and indeed, its connection with divinity.115 The pictorial ability of revelation, leading the viewer from the visible world into the invisible, is particularly evident in the Ferrarese painting of the Virgin and Child in Edinburgh (Figure 2), where the faux parchment that once fictitiously concealed the painting is torn to reveal the picture beneath.116 Here the action of ripping the parchment is suggested by the fluttering of Mary’s own veil, revealing the sacred mysteries of the pictorial composition. The relationship between veiling, vision, and image becomes more complex in the Roberti diptych with its intrapictorial relationships. The aspect of unveiling in relation to fabula can be applied literally if one considers the velvet covering as a curtain that uncovers the depictions of Christ’s body and reveals the truths of the biblical narrative. The panel makes claims for the importance of painting as veiling and the concept of fabula can be applied to the painting, not in terms of pagan mythologies, but in terms of how painting can reveal the Truth through the assemblage of various Christian narratives, carrying biblical and moral connotations as Christ was the ‘the way, the truth, and the life.’117

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While the Christian narrative was not considered myth for medieval and Renaissance Christians, it was a set of stories similar to fabula that were acted out in theatrical representations, in painting and other forms of representations, in the religious narratives of the saints, and in the Bible, most effectively through parables. Christian imagery had for a long time employed typological juxtapositions to serve exegetical functions and enhance devotion. By the end of the fifteenth century, this tradition had been transformed through humanist poetics, and now coupled with the new spaces of collection and artistic invention, the artist’s ability to provide pictorial metaphors gained further ground. Literary paintings that play with fabula, such as those by Bellini, Titian, and Mantegna commissioned for the studioli of Eleonora’s children, have been interpreted as works that solicit the viewer’s participation, not only by matching the painting with a text or a textual programme, but also by engaging with interpretation, intertextuality, and citation.118 These paintings were to function as a means to engage the viewer in assembling together different narratives or texts to understand the composition and reach higher ‘truths.’ The density of texts and images found within spaces such as the studiolo were not meant to be finite, but rather opened endless assemblages and thus various routes to arrive at meaning. Such a constellation of references and meaning is something that will also be addressed in the next chapter when considering the Famous Women panels also owned by Eleonora d’Aragona and their relation to the mottoes of the Order of the Ermine. In the lectio divino or divine reading tradition, readers were encouraged to link biblical passages with commentaries by later authors, thereby forming a chain of associations or paths of thought, suggesting that the diptych might have encouraged a similar meditative process.119 The Roberti diptych not only references the typology of the birth and death of Christ, enhanced by the book-​like qualities of dividing the two narratives, but also in its inclusion of Saints Francis and Jerome. As noted, Eleonora’s library contained various books by both saints, in addition to instructional texts on spirituality and the Bible, thus the painting would have set up a dialogue between the texts in her library and the objects collected in her studiolo. Intertextuality here works in a variety of ways, from painting-​to-​painting, painting-​to-​sculpture, and painting-​ to-​text relationships.120 Specifically, Eleonora owned four books by or on Jerome: a Prologue by Saint Jerome to the Prophet Daniel; another text listed simply as a book by Saint Jerome written in the vernacular; the third titled ‘Saint Jerome on Righteous Living’; and finally a ‘Life of Saint Jerome with other things.’121 The latter three were described as manuscripts and the text on righteous living contained some illumination. Both the Prologue to Daniel and Righteous Living were covered in black velvet while the vernacular text was covered with a more elaborate patterning in morello leather with gilding, and could be closed with three bronze fasteners. Not only were the texts alluded

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to in the Roberti diptych, but the physical appearance of the diptych when it was closed referenced the exterior of the books, corresponding to the texture of velvet and the colour morello.122 Jerome’s texts, which recounted his experience in the desert and his vision of Christ, are rendered on the Roberti panel depicting Jerome’s vision of Christ. The appearance of Saint Francis receiving the stigmata in the diptych, while offering an example of devotion and piety, also referenced the narrative of his stigmata, a story that was recounted in the text of Fioriti di San Francesco in Eleonora’s library.123 The depiction of Saint Francis, an event that occurred in the thirteenth century, appears alongside the narrative of Saint Jerome’s vision of Christ that occurred in the fourth century. These later two narratives are connected to the biblical narratives on the diptych that constituted the beginning and the end of the Christological cycle: the Annunciation to the Shepherds, the Nativity of Christ, the Crucifixion, and Christ’s Entombment/​ Resurrection. The diptych thus encouraged an intertextual reading by combining a series of Christian narratives, including stories from the Bible and later texts, as well as referencing other texts and artworks in Eleonora’s possession. Aside from the textual references, viewers would have made visual comparisons with the artworks in Eleonora’s collection that depicted the same narratives. Among the numerous altarpieces in her collection, Eleonora owned one in a northern style (‘ala todesche’) depicting the Passion with Saints Francis and Jerome. She also owned other altarpieces representing Saint Francis:  one depicting the saint with Saint Peter Martyr;124 a large altarpiece in relief depicting Saint Francis;125 and Gian Francesco Maineri is recorded in a payment in court documents for paintings of Saint Augustine and Saint Francis for one of her oratories.126 She additionally owned other images of Saint Francis including a ‘Christ and Saint Francis and other figures’ as well as ‘a painted panel of Saint Francis on wood.’127 Eleonora also had a small painting of Saint Jerome, which is likely Roberti’s Saint Jerome now at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles (Figure 17) as well as a statue of Saint Jerome in marble.128 In addition, Eleonora’s collections included countless works with the subjects of the Nativity and Christ at the sepulchre or similar compositions, and thus the diptych would have provided the viewer a model with which to compare the other renderings of similar compositions and incite paragone. Considering that many artistic projects in Ferrara, such as the renovations of a suite of rooms or the decoration of a chapel were collaborative affairs, numerous artists would have been involved, including illuminators, embroiderers, woodworkers, sculptors, and painters. Such collective practices would have enabled artists and craftsmen to collaborate across media, encouraging intermedial relationships. If artists in different media were following a circulated central design or style masterminded by an artist such as Tura or

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17.  Ercole de’ Roberti, Saint Jerome, c.  1474. Tempera on panel, 34 × 21.9  cm. J.  Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 96.PB.14. Photo: Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.

Roberti, the visual connections across works of art would have been even more vivid and identifiable for viewers. It also puts into perspective the ways the illuminations in the books in Eleonora’s library may have spoken directly to the tapestries on her walls, the statues displayed on ledges, and the diptych she held in her hand. Roberti’s diptych asks the viewer to use a combinatory technique, in establishing relations not only within the painting, but also with the objects and texts in the entire collection. This concatenation of texts and images and the various ways the viewer was to assemble meaning through intertextuality also shared a commonality with instructions on memory training and rhetorical invention as well as the religious practices of meditation.129 The literary theoretician Chevalier de Méré, writing two hundred years after Roberti’s

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diptych was painted, saw discussion as a series of small paintings, which formed a single entity once the conversation was over.130 De Méré’s contemporary, Gabriel Guéret, also examined the multiple ways of understanding conversation, by using this combinatory metaphor: Just one discussion can be both literary through its quotations  –​a collection of texts chosen for their inherent quality –​oral or philosophical through its theme –​ruins and the passing of time –​social through its address –​a writer paying tribute to a great person, and finally, historical through its concluding allusion to contemporary issues.131

Roberti’s diptych functions on a similar level as Guéret’s conversation, being literary through its collection of texts; philosophical through its theme of Christian asceticism, devotion, and redemption; social, through its placement in a collection and its relationship with its patron; and historical, through its allusion to contemporary devotional practices in Ferrara as well as through its construction of a historical narrative from the birth of Christ to the stigmatisation of Saint Francis. Another component can be added –​the visual –​as the diptych not only quotes historical texts, but also references other paintings and objects.

CITATION, IMITATION, AND THE SPACES OF COLLECTION

To push these notions of intertextuality and intermediality further, citation can also be considered in relation to the ways artists ‘cite’ other artists, and provide the viewer with visual references to other works. Copying, emulating, or imitating, both in literature and in art, was a common practice in this period and was the subject of much commentary, but these practices take on further rhetorical implications when considered in relation to collecting. A collection is already an assembly of disparate objects, which come together through the ownership of an individual or family. Merely assembling them forces the objects to interact with one another, and asks the viewer to posit the objects against each other, finding similarities or differences. When an object in a collection solicits an engagement with viewers and causes a new text or painting to be made in response, an intertextual relationship is formed. If such an object is a painting that cites another painting and both form part of the collection, we have a form of self-​reflexivity and an intertextuality.132 Collections and their spaces had a particular intellectual and social function, operating as both places for private study as well as social spaces.133 These forms of assemblage  –​both of objects and people  –​solicit a comparative analysis. They ask the viewer to assemble, combine, and compare the items on display and this gathering or assembling is closely linked to the idea of imitation and emulation, common tropes taken up by the humanists, but dating back

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to antique sources. While there were diverse ideas on the subject, the notion of imitation was linked to citing textual sources, either directly or indirectly, and it carried a wide range of metaphors, including artistic references.134 The activity of collecting was often employed as a metaphor, often through the imagery of the bee, who through the collection of pollen makes honey. One had to be cautious of merely aping, however, as Petrarch warns ‘take care that what you have gathered does not long remain in its original form inside of you: the bees would not be glorious if they did not convert what they found into something different and something better.’135 In the sixteenth century, this metaphor was extended beyond the artistic and textual spheres by Castiglione, who used the bee metaphor for the perfect courtier who must gather the ‘grace from all who seem to possess it.’136 Humanists’ texts reveal a tension between the importance of quoting other authors to demonstrate erudition, on the one hand, and the risk of copying/​ aping, which was unproductive and lacked intellect on the other. A need for rivalry and competition also constituted part of the debate, demonstrating that many authors sought to surpass rather than merely follow.137 Quoting was not restricted to writing alone but also reading, as Celenza has noted that by the mid-​fifteenth century reading was ‘detailed and intertextual’ where a small problem or question would bring to a scholar’s mind numerous sources and citations as a means to a resolution. It was also often an oral act, and thus connected to public or social performance, where one would show erudition by being able to quote or cite a well-​known author.138 This was certainly important for orators and ambassadors, but it also formed a key part in the education of rulers.139 This ability to quote and cite orally played out in a tradition described by Decembrio at the court of Ferrara: It had become standard practice that one who offered him [Leonello] a book should deliver a short, appropriate discourse at the same time. This reached such a high level of literary elegance or royal license, in the manner of plays, that the most pleasant of actors, Matotus, though illiterate, still recited speeches in Leonello’s presence, both by heart and sometimes in Greek.140

Such quotations could also point to one’s lack of erudition, exemplified by the Spaniard who is mocked elsewhere in the text for carrying his notebook with him around the court so that he could quote from it.141 Early modern texts, as Roger Chartier and Anthony Grafton among others have underlined, were material things, physical objects that underscore the ways intertextual relationships, even when comparing a text to another text, could be an extremely visual or material activity.142 Reading at this time was intricately bound up in the context of the emerging library, which was a precious object and a personal possession. This is evident in the amount of

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18.  Andrea Mantegna, The Adoration of the Shepherds, c. 1450–​51. Tempera on canvas, transferred from panel. Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 32.130.2.

time the characters in Decembrio’s De politia litteraria dedicate to the discussion of the look of texts and the furnishings of the library. As becomes evident from the discussion, Leonello kept his books in various locations, some in the large library while others were kept in his studiolo, an environment that suggests books travelled between the two and were certainly used in multiple spaces. The permeable and flexible boundaries of these spaces provided a creative environment for humanists, and undoubtedly resembled the mobility of Eleonora’s collections of books and works of art across her two suites of apartments.143 Studioli and their impervious boundaries along with their textual and visual approaches to learning and knowledge, provided viewers with visual cues that could spark rhetorical invention, and as argued here, pictorial invention too. Quotation is related to the Roberti diptych because it ventured into dialogue with other paintings through citation as it quoted visual references from Mantegna’s Adoration of the Shepherds (Figure 18) which has an Este provenance and relates to a series of other paintings with a similar composition.144 Specifically, it quoted Mantegna’s shepherd in ragged dress, ripped at the knees on the right, and the wattle fence on the left.145 While Roberti copies these elements, he also changes them and creates a completely new composition. For instance, the shepherd in Mantegna’s Adoration is much more ragged than

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19.  Cosmè Tura, Saint Jerome, c. 1470, Oil and egg on poplar. Photo: © The National Gallery, London NG773.

Roberti’s, not only in his dress, but Mantegna has also depicted his features as haggard, with wrinkles, and missing teeth. Roberti, in contrast, has borrowed the general stance of the shepherd, but has given him softer features, a supplicating pose with his hands in prayer, and made him more erect, while still copying the shoes and the torn knees. In addition, Roberti has modelled the stance of Jerome in the right panel on Tura’s Saint Jerome (Figure  19) once belonging to a larger altarpiece, but now in the National Gallery, London.146 To copy/​imitate/​emulate is an act that recognises the model as having something worth drawing from. Although much of early modern literature on imitation stresses the will to surpass the original, it also alludes to the fact that the model has some form of cultural resonance and distinction, for it to foster the desire to copy it in the first place. In cases in which textual sources no longer exist, visual sources can function as traces, which the historian or

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art historian may follow to locate associations. Repetition of cultural forms, such as a painting or a text, allows us to understand how a work may have been received in the period and demonstrates its cultural importance for its particular intellectual and social milieu. These concerns also address the relationship between copies and originals in Quattrocento collecting culture, as exemplified by ancient gems and their replications examined in Chapter 2. In the particular practices of art production at the court of Ferrara, it points to the collaborative efforts of artists and the ways in they worked together and copied from each other. These practices do not fit very neatly with the modern notion of a single author, but underscore the existence of two competitive artistic models, the substitutional and the authorial, recently considered by Alexander Nagel and Christopher Wood. While these two models can be related to historical shifts, Wood and Nagel are hesitant to ascribe chronological succession to these two systems, as they often encountered each other and were even defined by one other in the Renaissance.147 The substitutional model proposes the interchangeability of one work for another, thus allowing for a continuum over time, while the authorial model stresses an individual author who originates a work of art, and thus ties the work to a specific moment in time.148 Works produced in Ferrara through collaborative practices or works copying the court artist’s style or a motif from one of his paintings seem to hover in suspension between these two models, where the disegno and ingegno of the court artist is praised, while many of the works do not often have a single creator or author. Roberti’s diptych is a useful case to consider as it is related to a series of paintings with a similar composition. Eleonora’s inventory of 1493 indicates a complementary work to the one in the National Gallery:  ‘a small altarpiece that closes with a Nativity on one side, and a Christ at the sepulchre on the other side,’149 which suggests Eleonora owned the Roberti diptych and another one very similar to it. There are, however, various versions in existence today. There are at least two variants of the Dead Christ (right panel, Plate IV), while there are at least four versions of the Nativity (left panel, Plate III) and one reference in a larger altarpiece. The problem that arises around these panels, however, is that most have been sold to private collectors in the last century and obtaining images or details on their location have proven difficult, a fate that has befallen many Ferrarese paintings.150 There is no documented chronological order for these works and we cannot be certain if these works are copying Roberti’s diptych, or if there was a lost prototype that they were all responding to. A  suggestion appears in the following table for their order of execution, with the Roberti diptych appearing as a starting point, even though this is still uncertain.151 Many of these paintings have been attributed to Gian Francesco Maineri who was from Parma, but is said to have studied under Ercole de’ Roberti and who was also

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employed by Eleonora for a number of projects, later working for Isabella d’Este in Mantua.152 Not all the variations are likely to be by him, as the style differs between them and thus they might be better labelled the ‘Ferrara school.’ None of them are identical and include innovations by the artist(s), and would fall within the idea of quotation, where the artist is inspired and translates certain motifs and compositional elements into a new work.153 Panel A (Plate III): Ercole de’ Roberti, Nativity, 17.8 × 13.5 cm, left side of the diptych in the National Gallery, London.

1A (Figure  20):  Nativity,   Attributed to Gian Francesco Maineri. Private Collection. Sold at Christie’s December 1969, Lot 140 and Christie’s 10 July 1981, Lot 54. 30.5 × 24 cm. 2A (Figure  21):  Nativity, Sotheby’s, 6 December 1991, n.  202 (Monaco), 32 × 24 cm 3A (Figure 22): Nativity, Milan, private collection, formerly in Lurati collection, Milan (attributed to Aspertini), dimensions unknown. 4A (Figure  23):  Nativity, Attributed to Gian Francesco Maineri. Boymans-​van Beuningen Museum, Rotterdam. 24 × 18.5cm. Derivation 1A (Figure 24): Detail of Maineri’s and Lorenzo Costa’s altarpiece from the oratory of the conception (Pala Strozzi) originally in San Francesco, Ferrara, c.  1499, commissioned by Carlo and Camillo Storizzi (National Gallery, London). Derivation 2A:  Maineri?, Holy Family, formerly in Julius Boehler collection, Monaco. Sold at Parke-​Bernet, New York (4 May 1944, lot 60) 40.5 × 24.8 cm154 Panel B (Plate IV): Ercole de’ Roberti, The Dead Christ, 17.8 × 13.5 cm, right side of the diptych in the National Gallery, London. 1B (Figure 25): Christ at the Sepulchre, Attributed to Gian Francesco Maineri. Sold at San Marco Casa d’Aste Spa,Venice (9 July 2006, Lot 93). 48.3 × 36.2 cm. 2B (Figure 26): The Resurrected Christ with an Angel, Attributed to Gian Francesco Maineri, previously in Cook Collection. Sold at Sotheby’s (4 July 2012, Lot 25). 18 × 12.7 cm.

The first, 1A was sold at Christie’s in London in 1981 (Figure  20) and appears to be the first of the versions, because it most resembles Roberti’s left side of the diptych and thus both paintings may have been responding to the same original, or 1A was looking specifically to Roberti’s diptych. The painting measures 30.5 by 24 centimetres on panel, which is much bigger than Roberti’s panels, which measure 17.8 by 13.5 centimetres each. The manger structure is repeated, although slightly altered, with two doves and the artist has rendered the attic storey as if damaged by time. The shepherd has been moved from the right to the left, yet still bears rips at the knees, and he now carries a hat, inherited from Mantegna’s shepherd. Joseph has been moved to the right and now no longer copies Ercole’s painting but alludes to the tired Joseph from

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20. Attributed to Gian Francesco Maineri, Nativity. Private Collection. Sold at Christie’s December 1969, Lot 140 and Christie’s 10 July 1981, Lot 54. 30.5 × 24 cm. Photo: © 2017 Christie’s Images Limited.

Mantegna’s Adoration. The Christ Child radiates light from his crib, while spiritual rays filter down to Mary, who now occupies the centre of the painting, while Christ’s crib has been moved slightly off-​centre, to the left of the central composition. The foreground of the painting is demarcated by a ledge, which positions the scene of Christ’s birth in elevation in relation to the viewer and constructs almost a stage-​like setting. The ledge might also be borrowed from Mantegna’s Adoration, which forms an elevated plane on which the Madonna and Child are placed. 1A also resembles most closely Maineri’s Pala Strozzi

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21.  Ferrara school, Nativity, Sotheby’s, 6 December 1991, n. 202 (Monaco), 32 × 24 cm. Photo: Federico Zeri Foundation.

(Derivation 1A, Figure 24), which is dateable from around 1499.155 The shepherd carries the same staff and basket over his shoulder and the animals are rendered in similar manner to the larger altarpiece. The composition becomes more elaborate throughout the versions (Figures 20–​23), and moves away from Roberti’s simple manger and foreshortening is lost in the final translations. In Maineri’s version in his Strozzi altarpiece (Figure 24), we find a reference to Mantegna’s Joseph in the Adoration, in his seated pose, but also in the linear quality of the drapery.Throughout the copies the linear qualities remain in the

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22. Ferrara school, Nativity, Milan, private collection?, formerly in Lurati collection, Milan (attributed to Aspertini), dimensions unknown. Photo: Foto Reali Archive, Department of Image Collections, National Gallery of Art Library, Washington, DC.

drapery of Joseph and Mary, but there is a softer modelling of form, reflecting changes in taste around 1500, which increasingly moved away from the generation of Tura and his calligraphic line. The later versions (3A and 4A, Figures  22  and  2​ 3) become an elaborate reworking, containing a confusing jumble of planes. The version (4A) now located in Rotterdam is attributed to Maineri, measuring 24 by 18.5 centimetres

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23. Gian Francesco Maineri, Nativity, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam,  24 x 18.5 cm. Photo: Studio Tromp, Rotterdam.

on panel (Figure 23).156 The same main structure occupies the central part of the panel, with two doves in the window, making reference to 1A. Below, Christ has been moved out of the crib and onto the ground, while an angel and a child (either a putto or John the Baptist) carrying a banner have been added to the central composition, with the standard three characters of Mary, Joseph, and the shepherd. The shepherd has the same hat in hand from 1A and Mantegna’s Adoration. Joseph also alludes to the previous paintings and Mantegna, but now he is placed in a strange space, almost lingering on the surface of the painting,

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24. Gian Francesco Maineri and Lorenzo Costa, altarpiece from the oratory of the conception (Pala Strozzi) originally in San Francesco, Ferrara, c.  1499, detail of Nativity scene. © The National Gallery, London NG1119.

above Mary’s mantle, rather than occupying the perspectival space. There are many more added details, such as the three Magi in the right background who are depicted in full regalia, the elaborate landscape, and the appearance of other shepherds and a man on a horse in the left background. In another derivation, the manger structure with doves and Joseph were cited in a painting of the Holy Family attributed to Maineri (Derivation 2A), sold in New York in 1944, sharing many similarities with the later adaptations.157 The variations of the right panel have been harder to trace and there are less of them. One sold in 2006 in the San Marco auction in Venice (1B, Figure 25) measures 48.3 by 36.2 centimetres and depicts Christ with Saint John the Evangelist, Mary Magdalene, and an angel and was attributed to Maineri.158 Another painting (2B, Figure 26), The Resurrected Christ with an Angel was formerly in the Cook collection and was sold at Sotheby’s on 4 July 2012, Lot 25 and was also attributed to Maineri. Joseph Manca connected 2B to an entry in Eleonora’s inventory, that states a ‘small picture painted with a Christ and an angel.’159 Version 2B retains the small format of the Roberti diptych, while 1B is much larger.Version 1B continues to use Christ’s body as the focal point and employs the tomb as his support but the background has become a much more elaborate landscape.Two saints accompany the angel, while Saints Jerome and Francis are both absent, and the crosses of Calvary are faintly painted in the distance. Christ’s loincloth is reminiscent of the Roberti diptych, as is his

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24.  Pala Strozzi (continued with Nativity, lower right).

gesture and posture, although Christ is no longer in the tomb, but sitting on the edge, with his feet outside. The bottom of the painting employs a similar ledge to the first version of the Nativity (1A, Figure 20). The style is, however, rather different between the two. The linear qualities of Roberti have become so pronounced that drapery folds appear as a series of lines while outlines are emphasised, most apparent on Christ’s body, particularly on his legs. Version

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25.  Attributed to Gian Francesco Maineri, Christ at the Sepulchre. Sold at San Marco Casa d’Aste Spa,Venice (9 July 2006, Lot 93). 48.3 × 36.2cm. Photo: Federico Zeri Foundation.

2B (Figure 26) employs some use of line but with a softer tonality, closer to Maineri’s work. Because many of Maineri’s paintings were copied, it is likely that some of the variations might have been executed by artists working under him or in the larger Ferrarese orbit.160 The variations of this composition bring forward the intertextual nature of the paintings Eleonora collected. Whether these adaptations were copying the Roberti diptych or a now lost prototype, they suggest the extent of artistic invention and citation within Ferrara, and even in Eleonora’s own collections. Similar to humanist texts that were taken

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26.  Gian Francesco Maineri, The Resurrected Christ with an Angel, previously in Cook Collection. Sold at Sotheby’s (4 July 2012, Lot 25). 18 × 12.7 cm. Photo: courtesy of Sotheby’s.

up and cited, artists would come to engage intellectually with the works and create other works in response to those in the collection. OTHER FORMS OF CITATION IN ELEONORA D’ARAGONA’S COLLECTIONS

Eleonora’s inventory of 1493 lists other paintings that were copied, one of which was a panel depicting a ‘Madonna and Child with seraphim by the hand

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of [Andrea] Mantegna’ and below this entry is listed ‘another panel, copied (retracto) from the above, by the hand of a Modenese.’161 Scholars generally assume the Mantegna entry to be the panel in the Brera in Milan, which depicts the Virgin and Child surrounded by singing cherubim, not seraphim.162 No painting has been identified as the copy of Mantegna’s Madonna by a Modenese, but the use of the word retracto specifies a direct ‘redrawing’ rather than just ‘in the manner’ of.163 A  painting in the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston attributed to Mantegna includes an amalgam of motifs found in Mantegna’s and Roberti’s works. Saints Francis and Jerome are borrowed from Roberti while the depiction of the town and figure in the yellow drapery walking in the middle foreground are certainly Mantegnesque, for example.The various motifs from Christian history –​Francis, Jerome, Peter martyr and his assassins, Saint George and the dragon, in addition to the various female saints around Christ and Mary  –​suggest that the painting, like the Roberti diptych, would have provided a devotional tool, inciting the viewer to remember and tie together the various stories. It has been suggested that the work might indeed be the one mentioned in Eleonora’s inventory of 1493 as ‘a panel on wood depicting the Maries by the hand of Andrea Mantegna.’164 There were at least three paintings with this theme in her collections, which are now lost, but this suggests that they may have referenced each other.165 Such a painting demonstrates how artists within the Ferrarese/​Mantuan orbit were looking at each other for inspiration and in this case, the painting might have even been part of a workshop training exercise. Another painting by Ercole de’ Roberti now held at the Getty (Figure 17) depicts Saint Jerome, and corresponds to a painting listed in Eleonora’s inventory of a ‘small picture painted with Saint Jerome, framed and gilded.’166 Saint Jerome does not appear as the scholastic saint in the study, but as the ascetic in the desert placed within a rocky architectural setting. The reverse of the panel was painted to resemble porphyry, functioning similarly to a diptych with both an obverse and reverse, and suggests that it may have been portable.167 The small size of the painting, along with the large application of gold and brilliant colours, alludes to manuscript illumination. Indeed, technical examination of the painting reveals that Roberti used mosaic gold or porporino, a type of paint usually reserved for manuscript illumination.168 Like the diptych, the painting raises many important issues in relation to religious practices as well as humanist debates. Jerome’s body is bony and craggy, his face almost skeletal, borrowing elements from Tura’s emaciated bodies. His hand appears too weak to hold up the sceptre, which bears the vision of Christ, a wasted depiction that refers to the importance of asceticism and the body in Ferrarese religious practices. A  text listed in Eleonora’s inventory, Schalla del paradiso, which was derived from John Climacus’s Ladder of Divine Ascent, describes the benefits of bodily transformation through asceticism, whereby

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the wasted and gaunt body is a wondrous spectacle, made beautiful in its devotion to God.169 In the ascetic tradition, and in later literature, such as Climacus’s work, the body and soul are not seen in a dualist mode, fostering hatred for the corporal, but rather the body was a useful tool, something that was cultivated to join both body and soul.170 As Campbell has noted, depictions of emaciated saints by artists such as Tura, created links between the divine artisanship of God, the creative practices of the artist, and the fashioning of the body as means to the beautification of the soul.171 The body and its material transformations through ascetic practices or divine intervention was a recurrent theme in Ferrara and in Ferrarese painting. Throughout the Quattrocento there grew an increased interest in saintly individuals, culminating in Ercole’s aggressive campaign to have the stigmatist Lucia Broccadelli transferred to Ferrara in the 1490s.172 Caterina Vegri had also caused a sensation when her body remained miraculously animate after her death in 1463, exuding fragrant oil, and displaying radiant facial expressions in the presence of the Eucharist.173 There was a history of miraculous bodies in the Este family; two saintly individuals, both named Beatrice d’Este (not to be confused with Eleonora’s daughter of the same name) were famous in Ferrara: the first Beate Beatrice having produced miraculous signs on her body, which were celebrated by the annual ritual washing of her body and a procession by the nuns of San Antonio in Polesine, while the later Beatrice intervened miraculously in contemporary political events. In addition, certain confraternities, such as the Compagnia di Battuti Neri, participated in violent public acts of self-​mutilation, such as flagellation and the drawing of blood during religious processions, causing the authorities to intervene when the blood was collected and celebrated as relics.174 Saint Jerome had a particular following in Ferrara, both in humanistic and ecclesiastical circles. An oratory dedicated to Saint Jerome was located near the church of San Francesco, which also served as the burial place of Giovanni Tavelli, a famous Bishop of Ferrara. The oratory became a cult site for votive effigies, and Ercole d’Este’s interest with the cult of Tavelli has been seen as part of his programmatic attempts to appropriate religious devotion for political ends.175 Saint Jerome, well known as the early scholar, was also an important erudite figure in humanistic discourses and the culture of collecting. Roberti’s painting of Saint Jerome also entered into dialogue with Decembrio’s text, which asserts that there is greater skill in depicting nude figures, especially old men on small objects such as gems because the artist has to concentrate on rendering the body, without the opulent covering of ornament. In addition, the text encourages the use of images of Saint Jerome in places of learning, such as the library.176 Fifteenth-​century memory treatises also recommend naked old men as reminders of physical suffering and as guides for meditation and memory. Eleonora’s library indeed contained a text

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on the art of memory, which suggests that the small nature of the painting and the particular portrayal of Saint Jerome had connections to these larger intellectual and meditational practices.177 Roberti’s Saint Jerome reveals a paradox:  while stressing the need to re-​ fashion the body through asceticism –​by removing all sensual desires –​the jewel-​like preciousness of this small devotional object embodies what one must deny. It makes explicit the tensions in the act of collecting –​not unlike the memento mori message on Eleonora’s account book  –​and the different textual and artistic responses to those tensions. Roberti’s Saint Jerome, while speaking to ascetic practices, also worked to align the aesthetic capabilities of the artist in rendering flesh with the fashioning of the body through asceticism. Its reference to devotional practices thus could also serve a rhetorical function for the artist and the object’s claims for painting. The image also speaks to the ways artists could engage with such a painting through citation. It has been suggested that the figure of Jerome may have been originally copied from a gem,178 and it was also taken up by a painter in the circle of Maineri, in the background of a Madonna and Child.179 Here, Jerome appears outside a cave in a rocky outcrop resembling Jerome’s cave in Roberti’s diptych, and he is depicted beating his breast with the rock in his hand. Another quotation of Roberti’s Jerome appears, slightly altered, in the background of an anonymous Ferrarese painting, now in Dresden, depicting a Lamentation.180 He continues to beat his breast, and the cave structure is now placed within a larger mountain outcropping. Jerome has been removed from his perch, appearing with one knee on the ground, a combinatory stance borrowed from both Roberti’s Jerome at the Getty and the Jerome in Roberti’s diptych in the National Gallery. He beats his breast and envisions a large crucifix, which is no longer in his hand, but planted in the ground. A  drawing of Orpheus, assumed to be by a North Italian artist now in the Uffizi, depicts a similar pose to Roberti’s Saint Jerome.181 Orpheus’ sitting posture with his splayed legs, corresponds to Jerome’s position in its opposite; Jerome looks right, while Orpheus looks left, and it is Orpheus’ left knee that is bent with his foot on a ledge, rather than Jerome’s right. A lion also appears on the left of the drawing, among the many other animals. If Roberti’s Jerome was copied from an antique gem, then both the Orpheus and the Jerome may have been copied from the same model (or a plaquette, which might explain the reversal); however, the presence of the lion suggests that the drawing may have a direct correlation with Roberti’s painting. Roberti’s Saint Jerome, like the diptych, thus served as a prototype for artistic invention, through citation, and encouraged intertextual relationships with other paintings and texts in Ferrara. Eleonora’s collections containing similar artworks, but executed by different artists, would have enabled viewers to contemplate the different ways of

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handling subject matter. Her collections, containing objects that were almost all religious in subject matter, also spoke to the ways in which religious imagery could serve as a space for critical thinking and discussion, and points to other ways religious material was engaged with at the court of Ferrara: through the varying interpretations of the Bible or religious teachings, through the intellectual debates held on conceptions of the Virgin, and through the ascetic and bodily transformations of worship. COLLECTION AS ASSEMBLY: CONCLUSION

As is evident from the Ferrarese ambassador’s accounts after visiting princely collections that began this chapter, an assembly of objects in a collection brought both subjects and objects together. These objects could only be engaged with when they were removed from their protective coverings, transported out of their boxes, taken off their shelves, opened, and touched, perused, viewed, and compared with other objects in the collection. The format in the case of the Roberti diptych encouraged this form of engagement, as it required the viewer to open it up and assemble the images on its panels. Such an object encouraged a range of dialogues, facilitating a communion between the viewer and the divine, as it functioned as a devotional item. Engaging with contemporary understandings of fabula, the diptych asked the viewer to construct a dialogue by assembling the various texts and narratives it quoted. It was Boccaccio who noted that the etymology of the word fable (fabula) has an honourable origin in the verb for, faris, hence ‘conversation’ (confabulatio) which means […] ‘talking together’ (collocutio).’182 This ‘talking together’ has links to notions of conversation evoked by Chevalier de Méré, who, as mentioned, described discussion as a succession of small paintings. An intertextual reading of the diptych, dependent on notions of fabula, leads the viewer to construct meaning through its various quotations, both textual and visual, thus creating a form of ‘conversation.’ This idea of conversation may be linked to the assembly of objects, such as the collections formed by men and women of state that allowed for a gathering of people, giving rise to discussion. Such assemblies should be seen as sites that bring about debates, concerns, and disagreements, while the quotation of motifs might give rise to circulation and engagement outside the work, generating connections and associations beyond the space within which it was first viewed.183 There is an interplay in Roberti’s diptych with the religious rituals and ascetic practices of ecclesiastical institutions in Ferrara, establishments that were under great stress and sources of contention, fought over by the Este and the papacy, as both sought political dominance over Ferrarese territories.184 Such a ‘sacred’ object, which referenced contemporary religious practices, thus could also be seen to have ties with

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larger political issues. Roberti’s diptych, through its intertextual dialogues, its employment of penitential and ascetic devotional practices, and its attention to Word/​Flesh, painting/​scriptura debates, can be seen to actively engage with the viewer in a number of ways. It functioned rhetorically, asking the viewer to consider its theoretical, theological, and political implications, through its self-​reflexive form as a diptych, its artistic rendering of figures, its attention to the body and the senses, and its intertextual relationship with other artworks and texts.

Fast Forward 500+ Years: Landy’s Saints Alive In 2013 the contemporary British artist Michael Landy exhibited large-​ scale interactive sculptural works of saints influenced by the National Gallery’s collections in an exhibition he named Saints Alive. Among these was an interactive work, Saint Jerome Beats His Breast, which was inspired by representations of Saint Jerome in the gallery’s collections, two of which were by Quattrocento Ferrarese artists –​Cosmè Tura and Ercole de’ Roberti (Figure  19 and Plate IV). Significantly, early preparatory drawings (in particular Chest Beater, 2012 and Sin Bin Machine [Saint Jerome], 2012)  drew specifically from the right panel of Roberti’s diptych.185 Landy was particularly interested in foregrounding a fragmentary quality in his work, which reflected, for him, the fragmented nature of the gallery’s collections –​images that had once been whole works, but that were now removed from their original locations and often dismantled.186 By quoting Roberti’s Saint Jerome and removing it from its larger composition, Landy was following a long tradition of artists who were drawn to this particular diptych. He was also responding to the fragmentary nature of early modern collections:  the fragments of antiquities, as explored in Chapter 1 or the assemblage of works, exemplified in this chapter. The diptych’s ability to reference religious activities and performance outside its small form was evident in the fifteenth century when it spoke to religious debates and the corporeal experience of asceticism, such as flagellation in the streets during religious processions. In 2013, in a much more secular world of the art gallery, it was still able to engender such provocations, as the final sculpture that was erected asked viewers to step on a large red button, which activated a device that resulted in Saint Jerome to beat his breast in a rather violent manner. As the exhibition has toured numerous other galleries around the world, the small diptych’s ability to circulate and to engage in dialogue with other works seems not to have ended in the fifteenth century, but rather lives on in the intertextual relationships it engenders, which only seem to get more complex with time and geographically broader.

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FOUR

THE ORDER OF THE ERMINE: COLLARS, CLOAKS, AND THE CIRCULATION OF THE SIGN

INTRODUCTION

Paolo Giovio’s famous sixteenth-​century treatise on imprese recounts the history of the Order of the Ermine, founded by King Ferrante of Naples: King Ferrante […] instituted a beautiful impresa, which was born out of the treachery and rebellion of Marino di Marzano, Duke of Sessa and Prince of Rossano, who although he was the king’s cousin, joined with Duke John of Anjou to kill his lord and king at parliament. But because of the ardour and honesty of the king, Marino could not kill him, an event cast in bronze on the doors of the Castel Nuovo [(Figure 29, p. 166)]. After Marino was taken and thrown into prison, Ferrante resolved not to kill him, declaring that he did not want to sully his hands with the blood of his own kindred, even though this was contrary to the advice of his friends, courtiers, and counsellors and Marino was a traitor and was ungrateful. In token of his generous mind and his clemency, Ferrante thus took the image of the ermine [(Figure 27)] encircled by a bank of dung with the motto, MALO MORI QVAM FOEDARI [death rather than dishonour] reflecting the proper nature of the ermine to perish from hunger and thirst, rather than sully the purity of its precious fur by attempting to flee through the mire.1

In this extract, Giovio reveals how the ‘natural’ tendency of the ermine to protect its purity was symbolically linked to the clemency of the prince through the institution of the Order of the Ermine. Giovio’s Imprese was a 158

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27.  Impresa of the ermine, from Paolo Giovio, Dialogo dell’imprese, 1574, page 36, from Italian emblems online. Photo: By permission of University of Glasgow Library, Special Collections.

popular text, circulating widely across Europe and was translated in a variety of languages, but already in the fifteenth century, knowledge of the Order of the Ermine circulated through the repetition of the Order’s sign across media, as alluded to by Giovio’s reference to the Castel Nuovo doors and the impresa’s iconography. This circulation allowed for the signification of the ermine to spread, transforming the representation of an animal into a deeply complex and allegorical sign. Ermine is the species of weasel designated as ermine only when the animal is sporting its white winter coat. The ‘pure’ nature of the ermine, linked to its immaculate white fur, had been discussed in texts since antiquity such as Pliny’s Natural History, as well as contemporary works including the moralising Tuscan text of animal stories, Flowers of Virtue and Leonardo da Vinci’s Manuscript H. Leonardo discusses the ermine twice, in both instances in relation to moderation, where the creature is noted as eating only once a day and is said to prefer death rather than stain its purity.2 The weasel, closely associated with the ermine, was also discussed in a variety of bestiaries that cited Ovid, Pliny, and other ancient authors, and was believed to conceive through the ear and to give birth through the mouth, underlining the purity of the animal and emphasising that conception was miraculous and involved divine intervention.3 The institution of the Order of the Ermine in 1465 linked existing beliefs regarding the animal with King Ferrante’s adaptation of these concepts. The majority of authors who discuss the ermine in the sixteenth century correlated

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the ermine with Ferrante, thus underscoring not only the ‘natural’ characteristics of the animal –​purity and moderation –​but also noting the arbitrary aspect of its sign as a representation of fidelity, which alluded to the prince’s clemency in relation to Marzano and the Order’s mottoes. Early modern natural history was a combination of mythological, historical, and occult traditions, and nature was often used as an effective tool to convey complex meanings. As Paula Findlen has demonstrated, nature or natural signs could be used as persuasive symbolism for princes, from urban bees and portent dragons to the satellites of Jupiter, working effectively to convince beholders that associations between nature and a prince’s power were ‘natural’ and therefore preordained.4 Emblem books gained popularity in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, of which Giovio’s is the most famous (Figure 27).5 Emblems in general consisted of three parts: a motto, a picture, and an explanatory text, which ask the viewer to assemble the three parts to produce meaning.6 Such forms of reading engage the viewer into dialogical relationships with the image and the text, and encouraged paradigmatic relationships, prompting viewers to string together disparate parts to produce meaning.7 For the sixteenth-​century humanist Joannes Sambucus, this mosaic-​like composition of emblems was indebted to the etymology of the word emballesthia, which in Greek means ‘to insert’ or ‘to present’ something obscure requiring explanation and reflection. These disparate parts, for Sambucus, can thus be seen as functioning like tessarae of a mosaic or operating similarly to something inserted in a rhetorical context.8 Emblems and devices such as the ermine could serve rhetorical purposes and were often employed to formulate a message in veiled allegorical terms for the purpose of refreshing a familiar text and thus operated similarly to fabula.9 These forms of reading, as exemplified in Chapter 3, were employed to interpret diptychs, double-​sided portraits, medals, and other objects in the spaces of collections in the fifteenth century, and as will be argued here, were key to reading the images associated with the Order of the Ermine. Representations of ermines in the latter part of the fifteenth century had specific connotations with the Order of the Ermine and its inauguration, linked to historical narratives about the Order’s founder and his kingdom. These narratives were circulated in a variety of forms, through the written statutes of the Order, print, visual imagery, letters, word of mouth, and in public rituals like processions. The representation of the ermine and its repetition in diverse media attests to the discursive character of the emblem, and thus its political potential. The same depiction of the ermine –​profile view, one paw lifted, and usually accompanied by a scroll –​was repeatedly used. Acting as a sort of stamp or seal, it was registered, printed, inscribed, cast, and carved onto objects that include doors, coins, medals, books, walls, and furniture. In this flat, stamp-​like form the ermine can be seen as corresponding to what Harry Berger has called the ‘decorative mode.’ A decorative image often

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28.  Justus of Ghent, probably reworked by Pedro Berruguete. Federigo da Montefeltro and His Son, Guidobaldo, about 1476. Oil on wood. Galleria Nazionale delle Marche, Urbino. Photo: DIOMEDIA/​DeAgostini/​G. NIMATALLAH.

favours artificial or flat representation to support its symbolic purpose, thus serving an iconic or ritual function.10 It was through the repeated employment of this stamp-​like form that the Order communicated with a spatially fragmented public. One of the most well-​known representations of the Order of the Ermine appears in the dual portrait of Federigo da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino, with his son Guidobaldo, where Federigo sports both the gold collar and the crimson mantle of the Order (Figure 28).The mantle is lined at the neck

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with ermine fur while the pendant gold ermine dangles from the Order’s collar onto Federigo’s chest, in line with the book he is reading. These attributes, in addition to the other prestigious markers in the painting –​the Order of the Garter below his knee, his armour, his sword, and his male heir  –​have long been interpreted as portraying the ideals of the perfect ruler, combining the vita contemplativa and vita activa.11 Federigo’s portrait is rarely studied specifically in connection to the Order of the Ermine; the gold collar and mantle are often referred to but they are only noted as some of the many attributes of the painting and sitter, while the association with Naples is occasionally mentioned, but not usually emphasised.12 Yet it is precisely his Orders and his connections with Naples that are being flaunted in the painting. The 2011–​12 Renaissance portrait exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum in New York brought together for the first time numerous portraits displaying the Order’s emblem of the ermine, including Federigo’s dual portrait.13 While the catalogue did not elaborate on how the employment of the device linked these individuals across time and space, the placement of these portraits in close proximity to each other in the exhibition space brought forward these connections, concerns that are central to this chapter. In Federigo’s portrait, the Order is embodied through the mantle and the collar, which inscribe the sitter as a member of a larger collective group. Federigo da Montefeltro was a member of the Order of the Ermine and the Order of the Garter, both of which he received in 1474.14 Federigo had supported King Ferrante during the Baron’s revolt in the early 1460s and was later to die defending Ferrante’s daughter and son-​in-​law, Eleonora d’Aragona and Ercole d’Este, during Ferrara’s war with Venice in the early 1480s.15 The employment of the ermine device was not simply a marker of political allegiance or prestige, rather the representation of Federigo sporting the collar and mantle asks us to think about how the space of the studiolo and the portrait are linked to other spaces and representations across Italy, harnessing Federigo’s body to a confraternal brotherhood and the forms of performativity enacted in its rituals and events. This dissemination of the ermine sign was a means to engage a geographically diverse public, connecting subjects and objects across metatopical space.16 Federigo’s portrait and its relationship to its material and visual surroundings at the Urbino Palace exemplify the polyvalent symbolism of the ermine when it was read in relation to other texts, images, and materials. The portrait asks viewers to link together the various attributes to read the portrait, which resonates with how the Order’s collar was composed and interpreted. Comprised of various smaller imprese, the collar asks the viewer to link together quite literally the chain’s components in an emblematic mode to understand its symbolic meaning. Chapter 9 of the statutes of the

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Order of the Ermine detail the material and visual components of the gold collar: The collar [is] composed (colligato) of stocks, that is trunks of trees, into the top of which are inserted shoots, which are beginning to sprout leaves, and similarly of chairs, from which burst flames, in such a way that they are joined (collocate) together, that is, one stock, and then one chair. […] from which will be suspended, onto the chest, an image of the white ermine, in white enamelled gold, at the feet on which shall be a scroll with this word: DECORUM; and it should be understood to everyone our intention, that with these images of the sprouting stock, that which is converted into a better and more worthy seed, and by the purest animal, we signify to our confratri only that which we must do, which is to be decent, just, and honest, and this is according to nature and the condition of each, which should be perpetual.17

This remarkably visual account of the collar’s parts –​stocks, trunks, shoots, leaves, chairs, flames –​and their movements –​inserting, bursting, suspending, and sprouting –​underlines how the visual and material components were linked to symbolic meanings:  purity, decency, justice, and honesty. Contemporaries equipped with a humanist education would have easily understood the collar with its concatenation of meaning within the rhetorical tradition of the catena aurea, or Golden Chain, whereby ideas, images, and texts could be linked together through chains of associations to make meaning.18 Federigo’s portrait similarly encourages the viewer to piece together the portrait’s various attributes to compose the sitter’s identity, through emblematic modes of reading. In this chapter, the object of study is a sign, which becomes significant through its employment across media. The chapter investigates the ways that meaning is constructed through the establishment of sign and signifier, through an examination of the semiotics of the ermine and the processes of it becoming an easily read emblem. However, there is also a performative aspect to how the ermine was used and read. The ermine is not only approached in linguistic terms and the intent is not simply to find a single iconographical meaning, but rather this chapter explores how the ermine was an active, rhetorical, and engaging symbol, employed in multiple spaces where it was read and used by diverse individuals and on diverse materials.19 The ways in which the ermine was employed in many of the examples in this chapter required the viewer to take different routes, which could sometimes be textual and hermeneutical or visual and spatial, and often a combination of all of these. In many instances, then, meaning is achieved through a conflation of the allegorical and literal, the symbolic and the natural, the iconographic and the iconological. This chapter begins with a brief introduction to the two orders of the Aragonese –​the Order of the Jar and the Order of the Ermine. The bestowal of the Order of the Ermine was not restricted to the Neapolitan kingdom

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and the granting of orders is considered within the larger diplomatic and political networks within Italy and Europe. The bestowal of the Order is likened to gift practices, as it endowed the receiver with indebtedness and obligation as well as prestige. The employment of the ermine across media and its connection to the accoutrements associated with the Order (the fur mantle and the gold collar) materially defined the conditions of bestowal. The mantle and chain’s value was quite obviously demonstrated by the material and economic properties of these two bodily adornments –​gold and fur. The pendant ermine, and the ability to advertise membership through the employment of the sign in one’s portrait, on one’s palace, or elsewhere, however, registered value on a more complex semiotic level. The effectiveness of the ermine as a sign depended on its ability to harness a constellation of meanings discernible only to those who were privileged enough to be members or ‘in the know.’ The various representations of the Order of the Ermine connected a wide range of objects in diverse places from architectural embellishments and garden sculpture to manuscript illumination, establishing a circuitry of images that depended upon each other by prompting viewers to draw connections to similar images in other locations. It was this employment that allowed the idea to circulate but also worked to bind individual members spread out across geographical space. THE ARAGONESE ORDERS OF THE JAR AND THE ERMINE

The Order of the Ermine (referred to in contemporary texts as armellino or ermellino) was not the first order for the Aragonese as the Order of the Jar, instituted by Don Fernando of Antequera, King of Aragon in 1403, served earlier as their dynastic symbol and was inherited by Fernando’s eldest son King Alfonso I  d’Aragona of Naples, and later Alfonso’s son, Ferrante.20 Knightly orders were used throughout the medieval and early modern period as ways to create international communities, fostering political alliances and fidelity. The Aragonese were members of other famous orders, such as the Order of the Garter (England), and the Order of the Golden Fleece (Burgundy and the Netherlands).21 The Order of the Jar (also called the Device of the Jar of the Salutation or the Order of the Stole and Jar) was in use from 1403 to 1516.22 It originated in Aragonese Spain and was transferred to the Neapolitan kingdom when Alfonso I d’Aragona succeeded Giovanna II of Naples. The Order of the Jar was symbolised by the Jar of Lilies in reference to the Salutation of the Angel Gabriel to Mary, a motif often appearing in the iconography of Annunciation scenes in the period. Members invested with the Order were given a gold collar, with the links in the form of Salutation Jars accompanied by a pendant griffon, as well as a white stole with a brooch of the Salutation Jar.23 The

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Order became specifically connected with Aragonese rule in Naples when Alfonso founded a church dedicated to the Virgin on the location where he had first set up camp during his successful siege of Naples.24 A commemorative procession was held yearly on 2 June and Ferrante is recorded as maintaining this tradition, walking on foot with troops to the site every year. Joampiero Leostello noted in the fifteenth century that the church erected there was called the Church of Santa Maria Armellino, offering further connections for the Aragonese with the ermine and perhaps influencing the choice of this animal for the later Order of the Ermine.25 According to sixteenth-​ century sources, the Order of the Ermine was instituted following the rebellion of Marino di Marzano (or Marciano), Duke of Sessa and Prince of Rossano.26 Ferrante was Alfonso’s illegitimate son and his right to rule was contested numerous times. In August 1458, Ferrante was finally recognised as legitimate ruler both by Pius II and the majority of the Neapolitan barons. However, just more than a year later, in October 1459, Ferrante’ s brother-​in-​law and cousin Marzano plotted against him, entering negotiations with Jean, Duke of Calabria, and René of Anjou, which resulted in five years of warfare. Most of the barons took the side of Marzano, and Ferrante was left only with the political support from his allies outside the kingdom: the Pope, the Medici, and Federigo da Montefeltro.27 In July 1465, the Battle of Ischia resulted in Ferrante’s triumph over the Angevins, and just more than two months later Ferrante instituted the Order of the Ermine. The triumphant flotilla entering Naples after the Battle at Ischia is depicted on the Tavola Strozzi (Plate I, p. 327), where ermines are present on the flags of the ships underlining this correlation.28 The successful victory over Marzano was an important political moment for the Aragonese, emphasised by its various depictions on architecture from bas-​relief narratives on the bronze doors of the Castel Nuovo (Figures 29 and 31) to a fresco cycle (now destroyed) at the villa La Duchesca. The Order of the Ermine, like other knightly orders, had a religious dimension, dedicated to Saint Michael the Archangel. The principal feast day of the Archangel, 29 September, was honoured by members of the Order, as was the feast of his apparition in Monte Gargano on May 8.29 Saint Michael was an appropriate model of knighthood, but he also had particular resonance in the kingdom of Naples, as the famous pilgrimage site of Monte Gargano was in Apulia, within the kingdom’s confines.30 The Order, however, took the ermine rather than the archangel as its symbol. Individuals belonging to the order were invested both with the gold collar and a crimson mantle lined with skins of ermine and decorated with ermine fur around the neck. These formed parts of the material accoutrements of the Order –​fur, gold, cloth –​which became symbolically charged through the ritual activities and representations of the Order, which will be discussed later in this chapter.

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29.  Guglielmo lo Monaco, Castel Nuovo doors, c. 1474–​75. Bronze. Museo Civico del Castel Nuovo, Naples. Photo: © Archivio dell’arte, Pedicini photographers.

A number of early sources describe the Order and its symbolism. Paolo Giovio, quoted at the start of this chapter, explained that Ferrante’s clemency in not executing Marzano for his treachery relates to the Order of the Ermine and its motto ‘Malo mori quam feodari’ (I would rather die rather than soil [my honour], or death over dishonour).31 The text is accompanied by an engraving

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of an ermine in the middle of a circle of dung (Figure 27) referencing contemporary literature that characterised the ermine as an animal that would rather be captured by hunters than take refuge in a dirty lair. The ermine here is represented in profile, copying the common stamp-​like portrayal of the ermine, and yet, there is some attempt to make the animal appear three-​ dimensional. Dung heaps are neatly piled schematically to form a circle, in garland-​like form around the ermine, emphasising the stark contrast between the purity of the animal and faecal matter, and thus drawing a marked distinction between the symbolic and the real. Scipione Mazzella’s sixteenth-​ century history of the Neapolitan kings contains the printed portrait of Ferrante sporting the ermine pendant (Figure 42, p. 187) and recounts the history of the impresa of the ermine. Mazzella notes that the Order was born out of the rebellion and treachery of Marzano, remarking that the clemency represented by the ermine, a creature that would rather die than be defiled, was taken up by Ferrante who did not dare to stain his hands with his brother-​in-​law’s blood.32 In Giulio Cesare Capaccio’s Il forastiero, dating from 1634, the Order of the Ermine is discussed as an emblem of fidelity.33 He notes that the Duke of Urbino,‘Gran FrancescoMaria Secondo della Rovere’ has a Spanish copy of the statutes in his library, and Capaccio includes a quote from the statutes, which describes the appearance of the mantle and the collar. The collar can be found, he observes, on the bronze bust of Ferrante in the monastery of Monteoliveto in Naples. Capaccio also recounts the history of the Order as having links to Marzano’s treachery and Ferrante’s unwillingness to soil his hands with the blood of kin, noting the use of the mottoes ‘Nunquam’ (never) and ‘malo mori quam feodari.’34 Capaccio thus draws links between the different texts, images, and places where he had come in contact with the Order, from the textual description of the collar and mantle in the statutes located in Urbino to the representation of the collar on the bronze bust in Monteoliveto in Naples. Giovanni Antonio Summonte, in his history of Naples, recounts Ferrante’s particular devotion to the Archangel Saint Michael and repeats the now common tropes –​Marzano’s treachery, the pure nature of the ermine, and the mottoes.35 Ferrante used both the image of Saint Michael as well as the ermine on his coins (see Figure 38, p. 182). As Giovanni Antonio Summonte explains, Saint Michael was accompanied by the inscription ‘Iusta tuenda’ (uphold justice) to signal Ferrante’s just rule, and the coin depicting the ermine was called ‘Armellina,’ to remind all of the ‘ungraciousness of Marino and the generosity of Ferrante’s soul.’36 In a letter from September 1465,Angilberto del Balzo, the son of the Duke of Andria and nephew of Queen Isabella and King Ferrante, reported to the Duke of Milan about the wedding celebrations held in Naples in honour of Ippolita Sforza and Alfonso d’Aragona. Angilberto noted that King Ferrante had just made the impresa and the collar of the ermine public, with its accompanying

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chapters of observation.37 While the institution of the Order was thus timed to correspond with the feast day of the Archangel Michael, it also coincided with this marriage, which was to solidify a Milan-​Naples alliance. The timing of the institution of the Order then, should be seen as integral to the political climate and negotiations. The Order was effectively political, promoting Aragonese hegemony and creating connections between members across Italy and Europe. An examination of the statutes will reveal how the Order sought to bind members into fidelity through precise regulations. THE STATUTES OF THE ORDER OF THE ERMINE

A Latin copy of the statutes is housed today in the British Library, while an Italian version was reported to exist in the nineteenth century at the Abbey of Santissima Trinità di Cava dei Tirreni, but is now thought to be lost.38 The text in both manuscripts, although in different languages, is virtually identical and must have been based on the same original, thus underlining regularity and consistency.39 The Latin copy in the British Library dates from 15 April 1487 and contains the arms of the Aragonese and the Orsini together with an ermine dangling below. The manuscript is written in Giovanni Pontano’s humanist script and signed by King Ferrante on folio 12v. Virgino Orsini (or Ursino) received the impresa of the Ermine in 1487 and was sent a standard depicting various devices pertaining to the Order in February 1487, and this manuscript presumably belonged to him.40 There exist no printed copies of the statutes, which suggests that each manuscript was transcribed when a new member of the order was invested –​an ‘original’ to be placed in one’s library, individually authorised and signed by the king. The statutes consist of 137 ordinances that are organised into thirty-​three chapters, detailing the observances of the two annual feasts, the spiritual and fraternal obligations of the members, the ritual of induction, the Order’s habit and collar, the election of new members, the Order’s chapel and clergy, and qualifications for admission. The Order was to be comprised of twenty-​seven knights, in addition to a college of canons attached to the Order’s chapel, and three corporate officers.41 There was to be one Capo who was the overseer of the Order (King Ferrante and subsequently his successors) and the other twenty-​six members were called confratri et compagni.42 While the first companions were most likely appointed by Ferrante, all successors were to be elected by the surviving confratri.43 Those elected were to receive investiture of the Order in the chapel, following strict protocol, but companions were also allowed to receive the investiture in absentia, if they could not travel to Naples. Membership in the Order was to be for life, although Ferrante made sure that expulsion from the Order was also detailed in the statutes. An emphasis on the rites of expulsion suggests an explicit

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attempt by Ferrante to discourage treason, underlining the Order as a symbol of fidelity.44 Membership in the Order was thus never completely secure, but about making and maintaining one’s reputation. Employment of the sign of the ermine in various media by members such as Federigo da Montefeltro, especially in portraiture, was a way of reiterating one’s membership and one’s loyalty to the Order. The statutes also contained stipulations on political allegiances and warfare. All members were required to assist the Capo (Ferrante and then his successors) if he were to go to war against the enemies of the Christian faith.45 Giuliana Vitale has highlighted the religious component of the Aragonese orders, noting that anti-​Turkish sentiment was an underlying theme of knighthood.46 This was a particularly relevant issue for the Aragonese, who were in constant negotiations with the Ottoman Empire throughout the fifteenth century, resulting in the Turkish invasion of Otranto in the 1480s, and such a stipulation was thus an overt way to foster crucial support –​monetary and military –​during these unstable times.47 Members were also required to assist any confratri who, through war or travel, found themselves in the hands of the infidel.48 Disputes between confratri were highly discouraged, and if they were to arise, members were to be presented to the Capo before going to war, as he was responsible for issuing judgement.49 As many of the members of the Order were principal barons of the kingdom and ruling political figures across Italy and Europe, the statutes can be seen as an attempt to create fidelity and alliances among various conflicting political contenders. It was also a way for Ferrante to surround himself with a group of individuals dependent on him for overseeing peace. The rules in relation to religious observations were detailed and extensive, including observing feasts and fasts.50 All confratri who were subjects of the Sovereign were required to partake in court celebrations of the principal feast. Specificities of the Order’s chapel are also mentioned in the statutes. There was to be an ‘Ecclesia de San Michaele’ complete with twenty-​seven stalls each affixed with a shield belonging to each member. The fact that no known church dedicated to that saint existed in Naples at the end of the fifteenth century poses a problem for defining a precise location. Some scholars have suggested that the ceremonies may have taken place in a chapel at the Church of Monteoliveto, where Guido Mazzoni’s Lamentation was located, containing a portrait of Duke Alfonso d’Aragona in the guise of Joseph of Arimathea, as well as the portrait bust of Ferrante (or possibly Alfonso) wearing the collar of the Order (Figure 41, p. 186).51 Contemporary documents such as ambassador reports or chronicles do not necessarily clarify the issue. Leostello’s Effermidi, recounting the deeds of Alfonso d’Aragona, notes several times that Alfonso celebrated the feast of Saint Michael in relation to the Order of the Ermine. On 28 September 1487, Leostello records that Alfonso stayed in the Castel Nuovo (rather than in his

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residence at the Castel Capuano) because it was the day of the Ermine, and in the morning he listened to mass with the king, but does not detail where they heard this mass.52 There was a Sala dell’Ermellino in the Castel Nuovo, decorated with ermines that may have been a suitable spot, but one would assume that it would be designated as cappella or chiesa if this indeed was the space where mass was to be held, although there was an oratory beside it.53 There was also the main chapel in the Castel Nuovo, which was often used for public masses and may have served the purpose. Leostello also notes that on 8 May 1488, the day of the Apparition of Saint Michael, Alfonso went to hear mass with the ‘arminio’ at Santa Maria de Monteoliveto for the feast of Saint Michael.54 Alfonso had a particular attachment to the Church and monastery of Monteoliveto, and because this was the day of the Apparition and not the principal feast, it may have been celebrated here. It should also be noted that San Domenico Maggiore was once the monastery and Church of San Michele Arcangelo until the thirteenth century, and it might have still carried associations with that saint.55 San Domenico Maggiore was an important church for the Aragonese, housing many of the family’s tombs, including Ferrante’s (it was also the site of Diomede Carafa’s chapel and tomb).56 It is also possible that the church of Santa Maria Armellino, which was outside Naples, and as mentioned recorded as the church where the Aragonese travelled to on foot to celebrate Alfonso’s successful siege of Naples in relation to the Order of the Jar, may also have been used for the Order’s ceremonies. Although the location of the Order’s chapel is unknown today, its description in the statutes reveals that it served as a central location of ritual and investiture. This chapel thus served both as a geographical location as well as a symbolic space, operating as the sacred headquarters for the Order’s members across Italy and Europe. MEMBERS AND INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION

King Ferrante bestowed as well as received knightly orders, underlining how the exchange of orders between rulers was part of international diplomatic networks and should be interpreted within the frame of gift giving and reciprocity. Ferrante used the Order to create a circle of individuals dependent on him, not as subjects in his realm, but as members of an international brotherhood of fidelity devoted to the king.57 The investiture of an order, along with its token clothing and collar or brooch, was a form of obligation, which necessitated a response, similar to a counter-​gift. When such a bestowal was given from one ruler to another, it was often reciprocated by the return of investiture. Such acts bestowed not only honour but also obligation, a Maussian characteristic of the practices of gift giving.58 For instance, King Alfonso I sent the stola and collar with his ambassadors to Philip the Good in 1446 after he

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had been granted membership in the Order of the Golden Fleece by Philip in December 1445.59 Then in 1455, court records show that Alfonso paid for a gold collar to be given to Isabella of Portugal, Duchess of Burgundy and the wife of Philip the Good.60 But reciprocity did not end simply with the counter-​gift of investiture, rather it was bound up in the immaterial obligations that membership dictated. The burden of obligation in accepting an order from another ruler is evident in the legendary foundation of the Order of the Golden Fleece by the Duke of Burgundy, said to have been instituted as a means to reject the Order of the Garter. As a contemporary describes it, the bestowal of the Order of the Garter was likened to slavery,‘an attempt […] to turn [the Duke of Burgundy’s] freedom into obligation,’ and if ‘he accepted this Order he would be obliged for the rest of his life by ever stronger bonds, promises, and oaths from which he would never be able to extricate himself.’61 Similarly, the notion of obligation surfaces in letters from November 1475 between Galeazzo Sforza and Ercole d’Este discussing the bestowal of the Order of the Ermine. Ercole d’Este had written to Galeazzo informing him that King Ferrante was intending to bestow the Order of the Ermine on Galeazzo, which he claims should be interpreted as a ‘demonstration of love’ and honour. Galeazzo responded that the League needed to be considered before accepting such an impresa, as it was important to ‘first examine with diligence the obligation’ that membership would involve.62 This was a particularly fraught moment in Italian politics, and in particular between Naples and Milan, as explored in Chapter  1. Political obligation as outlined in the statutes was therefore not taken lightly and participation in the Order was certainly more than just membership in a club. Diplomatic relations between Burgundy and Naples in the 1470s were entangled in the bestowal of the Orders of the Ermine and Golden Fleece. Both Alfonso I d’Aragona and Ferrante were invested with the English Order of the Garter in 1450 and 1460, respectively, as well as the Burgundian Order of the Golden Fleece.63 While Ferrante was seeking a political alliance with Burgundy, he was also keen on solidifying these diplomatic relations by marrying his son, Federico, to the Duke of Burgundy’s daughter, Mary.64 On 5 December 1471, the Venetian ambassador Zaccaria Barbaro reported that the Burgundian ambassador was to leave Burgundy for Naples, and was to bring a jewel worth 10,000 ducati for the king from the Duke of Burgundy.65 In 1472, on the arrival of the Burgundian ambassador, the court put on a feast in his honour at great expense.66 In a letter dated 10 February 1472 from Francesco Maleta to the Duke of Milan, the ambassador details the events of a joust held in Naples. Maleta notes that the king watched from a tribunale, accompanied by the Burgundian ambassadors on his right, remarking that the king wore a coat lined with ermine and black shoes with the devices of the King of England.67 The attention given in Maleta’s description to the clothing, and specifically the

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wearing of the English impresa on the king’s shoes indicates how the wearing of imprese could signal larger political dependencies or hoped for alliances. In April 1473, the Burgundian ambassador to Naples mentioned that Pierre of Luxembourg, nephew of the Duke of Burgundy and son of Louis, Count of San Polo, was to come in May of that year with the ‘impresa of the said signor’ to bestow upon King Ferrante.68 In 1475,  Anthony of  Burgundy visited Naples and was lodged at the Carafa Palace, and with him he brought his brother’s Order of Saint George.69 In 1474 Ferrante was granted membership into the Order of the Golden Fleece by the Duke of Burgundy and later that year, Ferrante was to return the favour by granting the duke with his own Order.70 On 3 October 1474, Galeotto Carafa, the Mantuan ambassador to the court of Naples reported on Federico d’Aragona’s upcoming trip to Burgundy: The said Illustrious Lord will bear the Order of the Ermine, of which the Majesty of the Lord King was the founder, and which he will bear to the Duke of Burgundy, because the duke sent his own, that is, of the Fleece, to his aforesaid Majesty by one of his bastard brothers.71

On 26 October 1474, the local chronicler told a similar tale, but elaborating on the dynastic and political motives, noting that Federico might marry the Duke of Burgundy’s daughter.72 The potential marriage as well as the bestowal of the Order was thus publicised not only in Naples, but also across Italy through ambassador reports, stressing the international publicity the Order was achieving. Relations between the two states became quite complicated, involving various alliances and counter-​alliances within the Italian peninsula and Europe at large, and in the end, marriage negotiations were called off, and Mary of Burgundy was married to Maximilian in 1476.73 Other political figures across Italy were invested with these orders as well: Ercole d’Este, Duke of Ferrara and son-​in-​law of Ferrante was invested with the Order of the Garter in 1480.74 The political aspects of bestowal are also telling in earlier relations between the courts of Naples and Milan. On 5 October 1456, the Milanese ambassador reported that Alfonso I d’Aragona was to give Galeazzo Sforza the collar of the Aragonese device, in response to the relinquishing of some lands belonging to Alfonso. On 19 March 1457 Francesco Cusani returned from Naples with the gold collar for Galeazzo.75 The bestowal of the collar was given just a year after the signing of the marriage contracts in October 1455 between Ippolita Sforza and Alfonso d’Aragona and Sforza Maria and Eleonora d’Aragona and thus acted as a confirmation of the alliances made through marriage.76 Galeazzo Sforza, as mentioned, was also later given membership in the Order of the Ermine, thus underlining the importance

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for Ferrante to bestow his own Order on him, in addition to his father’s Order of the Jar. This is not surprising considering that the marriage negotiations between the Sforzas and Aragonese were only partially followed through and the fraught political scene in the 1470s would have induced Ferrante to reiterate the Sforza-​Aragonese alliance. After founding the Order of the Ermine in 1465, Ferrante continued to bestow the Order of the Jar on individuals after this date. The Order of the Jar had less restrictive statutes than the Order of the Ermine, and primary sources suggest that Ferrante bestowed the Order of the Jar on those individuals he wanted to honour, but not necessarily invest in a more formal and binding allegiance. The statutes of the Order of the Jar specified similar rituals but did not have any formal obligations regarding commitments between members or allegiances to the Capo.77 On 22 April 1474, the Milanese ambassador in Naples, Francesco Maleta reported that the Conte de Meiya, ambassador of the King of Datia, was knighted by King Ferrante, and given the stola. Maleta describes the way such a bestowal was publicised, noting that afterwards the Datian ambassador mounted his horse, wearing the ‘gold collar at his neck, valued at 300 ducati, that the king had given him and rode around all of Naples: as is custom when one is made a knight, accompanied always by the duke of Calabria [Alfonso d’Aragona] and all the barons, and he was taken to see all the memorable things of Naples.’ 78 Court accounts attest that Ferrante continued to invest individuals with the Order of the Jar and Stole, such as ambassadors from Milan, Poland, and Spain. 79 The majority of individuals invested with the Order of the Jar throughout this period were ambassadors, rather than ruling figures, which suggests that Ferrante used the Order of the Jar to place honour on those of lesser ranks who occupied diplomatic positions but belonging to other regimes, and thus created loyalties outside his own kingdom. Ferrante thus reserved the Order of the Ermine for individuals who maintained some sort of political authority, such as counts, princes, kings, and dukes, and bestowed the Order of the Jar on those who he knew might carry political weight, but not sovereign power. Similar to diplomatic gifts, orders were often bestowed when negotiations were being deliberated. Rather than merely signifying these relations, they often constitute an integral part, revealing the complexities of the rituals of diplomatic negotiations, which are only revealed when textual accounts are examined in conjunction with visual, spatial, and performative evidence.80 The importance of the objects of each order –​the Jar of Lillies, the Golden Fleece, the Garter, the Ermine –​became crucial signs in promoting the orders, branding members, and solidifying diplomatic relations. The employment of the ermine emblem across media and across space was central in forging

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connections (and dispelling anxieties) that will be elaborated on now by examining these diverse representations. REPRESENTATIONS OF THE ERMINE: THE CIRCULATION OF THE SIGN

Members of the Order employed the ermine device across media creating a circuitry of images, which promoted their membership, linked them with other members, and signalled Aragonese power. The frequent pairing of text and image gave rise to multiple meanings and associations, while its employment across media translated those immaterial meanings into a material thing that could be grasped, worn, touched, or viewed. While many of the works employing the device have long since disappeared, a significant amount of examples remain, in addition to textual sources. The ermine appears on one of fourteen medallions on the bronze doors of the Castel Nuovo in Naples dated by most scholars between 1474 and 14​ 77, although 1462–​68 has also been proposed (Figures  29–​31).81 The bronze doors depict six scenes, which form a narrative of Marino Marzano’s treachery, leading to Ferrante’s final victory over the rebellious barons at Troia in Apulia on 18 August 1462 (Figure 31).82 The top medallions once represented King Ferrante and his first wife, Queen Isabella Chiaramonte. The bottom medallions portray the artist, Guglielmo Monaco, and an unknown portrait of a man.83 The eight medallions framing the two central panels depict the various devices of the Aragonese, many of which are associated with the Order of the Ermine, starting from the top left and moving clockwise: the mountain of diamonds, the Aragonese arms, Ferrante’s personal device of jousting headgear with dragon, the flaming throne, the sprouting stock, the ermine accompanied by the motto PROBANDA (Figure 30), the open book, and the knot (the latter two being favourite devices of Alfonso I d’Aragona).84 The narrative scenes are not read in a consecutive manner, but rather, jump from top to bottom and then to the middle, and are accompanied by Latin inscriptions. The narrative begins at the top left, which depicts Ferrante’s meeting with Marzano at Calvi, accompanied by the Latin text: ‘The prince with Jacopo and the deceitful Deifobo; they simulate a conference so that the king may be slain.’85 The next panel in the cycle, the upper right, depicts Marzano’s attack on Ferrante’s life as he defends himself with his sword, with Deifobo and the king’s attendant also in combat, accompanied by the text: ‘The Mars-​mighty king, more spirited than famous Hector, probed with his shining blade, that the plot might perish.’86 The next two scenes continue on the two bottom panels, reading left to right, and depict the retreat of the Angevins and the Aragonese entry into Accadia. The central panels thus comprise the climax and the successful end to the story. The central right panel depicts the Battle of

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30.  Detail of ermine medallion, Castel Nuovo doors (copies in situ), Naples. Bronze. Originals, c. 1474–​75 by Guglielmo lo Monaco. Photo by author.

Troia, with the Aragonese chasing the Angevins out, accompanied by the text ‘The Trojan Ferrante conquered the enemy in the field as Caesar conquered Pompey at Oechalia’ (Figure 31).87 The final scene, the left central panel, depicts the siege and surrender of Troia, where the Aragonese enter the triumphal gate, and the final inscription reads: ‘Troia gave rest to our side, and an end to the labor, in which place the enemy shed much blood and was routed.’88 The way the viewer is asked to read the narrative scenes is particularly intriguing. Not only does it give a spiralling effect to the sequence of events, providing motion to the bodies and horsemen, as George Hersey has noted, but the combination of text, device, and image asks the viewer to piece together the various components, encouraging an emblematic reading.89 The text works to construct a dialogic narrative, asking the viewer to compare the contemporary events depicted with stories from antiquity, equating Ferrante with great leaders of the past, and thus conflating past and present. The entire cycle stresses the theme of Ferrante’s strength against his plotting rival, the traitor Marzano. The location of the ermine medallion is noteworthy, as it is situated closest to the viewer, at handle level, and joins the other two devices on the same panel –​ the flaming throne and the sprouting stock  –​that make up the gold collar. Furthermore, the ermine is the only device that has an accompanying motto, PROBANDA, which is a derivative of the Latin probatus, meaning tried, tested, approved, or most worthy.90 This motto regularly accompanied representations

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31.  Guglielmo lo Monaco, detail of the central right panel, Castel Nuovo doors. c.  1474–​75. Bronze. Museo Civico del Castel Nuovo, Naples. c. 1474–​75. Photo: © Archivio dell’arte, Pedicini photographers.

of the ermine and thus stressed Ferrante’s right to rule, executing justice and laying claim to the throne through his victory over Marzano. The position of the ermine medallion between the narratives of Aragonese victory also stresses this correlation. It is also noteworthy that the other device at handle level, which concludes the narrative of successful victory over treachery, is the flaming open book. This device was instigated by Alfonso I d’Aragona to signify the burning of the record books after the rebellious revolt of Sanseverino and symbolised the king’s clemency in forgiving Sanseverino’s treason.91 The particular location of the doors within the larger architectural framework must also be considered, as they are situated at the main portal of the Castel Nuovo, below the great marble arch, which depicts the triumphal entry of Alfonso I d’Aragona into Naples (Figure 32).The bronze doors are visible in Sarnelli’s print from 1692 illustrating the triumphal arch and the façade of the Castel Nuovo, with the doors shown below (Figure 33). In its simplified form,

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32. Aragonese arch, with view of main portal (where bronze doors, when closed, are visible). Castel Nuovo, Naples. Marble, 1442–​75. Photo by author.

the print exaggerates the swords’ diagonal lines across the panels, mimicking the guard who holds a sword at the door, indicating that the doors are not only decorative, but also a protective defence against intruders to the castle. Viewers, when first entering the Castel Nuovo, are confronted with the prominent marble portrait of Alfonso I d’Aragona on his triumphal cart on the arch, wearing his collar of the Jar. Visitors then pass through the inner arch, a project commissioned by Ferrante in 1465. In the inner portal, men in armour stare down on the passerby, demonstrating the might of the Aragonese

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33. Aragonese Arch. Engraving from Pompeo Sarnelli’s Guida dei forestieri, Naples:  Antonio Bulifon, 1692. Photo: © British Library Board, 171.a.1.

(Figure 34). This leads into a further interior passage (Figure 35), where the procession and coronation of Ferrante, appears above with the inscription: ‘I succeeded to my father’s kingdom having been thoroughly tested/​and received the robe and holy crown of the realm’ (SUCCESSI REGNO PATRIO CUNCTISQUE PROBATUS/​ET TRABEAM ET REGNI SACRUM DIADEMA RECEPI).92 Here again, we confront the word probatus, which provides a connection between Ferrante’s succession to the throne through being tried and tested, explored visually through the progression from the

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34.  Inner portal of arch (right, with men in armour, and imitation of gems below), c.  1465, Castel Nuovo, Naples. Photo by author.

triumphal arch depicting Alfonso’s entry into Naples, through the inner arch representation of Ferrante’s coronation, and culminating in the doors, with Ferrante’s successful victory over the treacherous Marzano. It is noteworthy, too, that at least one of the individuals on the side archway sports an emblem often associated with the Order, that of the flaming throne, engraved on the chest of his armour (Figure 36), which according to the Arthurian legend, is only displaced by the righteous ruler.93 Considering that the triumphal arch was originally topped by a figure of the Archangel Michael, the patron saint of the Order of the Ermine, the entire architectural programme can be read in terms of the Order’s themes. The portal was not the only location where the ermine made its appearance in the Castel Nuovo.There was a large room called ‘dell’Ermellino,’ which had a ceiling made of 428 coffers decorated with the imprese of the ermine and the mountain of diamonds. This decoration probably resembled the ceiling of the Urbino studiolo, which also has coffers depicting various imprese including the ermine (see Plate VI).94 Additionally, in the ‘stanze nuove’ there was a table with stools painted with the impresa of the ermine.95 Other Aragonese devices were also employed throughout the Castel Nuovo, such as the keystones in the main entry vault (Figure  37), the architectural embellishments in the interior courtyard, and on floor tiles.96 Furniture too was decorated with the

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35.  Inner arch (upper, with inscription declaring Ferrante’s just rule), c.  1465, Castel Nuovo, Naples. Photo by author.

36.  Inner portal of arch (left, with flaming throne detail on armour), c.  1465, Castel Nuovo, Naples. Photo by author.

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37.  Inner portal arch ceiling (with details of Aragonese imprese), c. 1465, Castel Nuovo, Naples. Photo by author.

Order’s associated emblems, as the lettuccio Filippo Strozzi gave to the king was ornamented with the mountain of diamonds (see Chapter 2) and Ferrante also had a bed with the impresa of the burning book. An ermine also appeared in a terracotta group, which formed part of a fountain at Poggioreale, the villa built by Duke Alfonso d’Aragona.97 Capaccio, in the early seventeenth century, described the sculpture as an ermine being captured by hunters, thus alluding to the particular nature of the ermine, but no doubt, also symbolically referencing the Order and the clemency of the Aragonese in face of their traitors. Indeed, the whole villa is known to have been decorated with frescoes depicting the Barons’ Revolt, thus stressing the Order’s theme of the tried, tested, and just prince.98 King Ferrante was the first of the Aragonese to use imprese on his coins, employing the ermine on his half-​carlino, which came to be known as armellini. The first set of coins depicted the Aragonese arms on the obverse with the ermine on the reverse bearing the scroll with the script DECORVM. A later version was issued with the ermine on the obverse accompanied by IVSTA TVENDA, stressing his just reign following the Barons’ Revolt, with the flaming throne on the reverse. Ferrante’s successors, Alfonso II and Ferdinando II also used the ermine on their coins but accompanied by different inscriptions, underlining the religious component of the Order including IN DEXTERA TVA SALVS MEA D(omine) (‘in the right hand, Lord is my salvation’), accompanied by the flaming throne on the reverse (Figures 38 and ​39).99 Used as currency, the armellini like the cavalli coins (Figures  5  and  6) provided a direct correlation

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38. Mezzo Carlino or ‘Armellino,’ with ermine and DECORVM (obverse) from reign of Alfonso II d’Aragona (1494–​95). Photo: © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

between the animal and wealth and circulated the sign widely, engaging a broader public and registering on different symbolic levels depending on the beholder.100 Depictions of the ermine appear repeatedly in manuscript illumination belonging to various members of the Order. An ermine with the motto PROBANDA appears in the border illumination along with the other devices of the open book, the sprouting stock, the mountain of diamonds, the knot, and the flaming throne in Andrea Contrario’s Reprehensio sive objurgatio in calumniatorem divini Platonis, illuminated by Cola Rapicano and made for Ferrante (Plate V).101 The border decoration also contains copies of coins or cameos depicting busts of Hannibal, Antoninus Pius, Galba, and Nero. In addition, there is a copy of the reverse of Alfonso I’s medal by Pisanello, depicting an eagle and other birds perched above a dead hare, and a portrait of Alfonso I  d’Aragona. The original Pisanello medal was accompanied by the motto LIBERALITAS AUGUSTA, liberalitas a term often associated with the eagle, who shares its prey with other birds, and stood for the virtues of a good prince who rewarded those in his service.102

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39.  Mezzo Carlino or ‘Armellino,’ with flaming throne and IN DEXTERA TVA SALVS MEA D (reverse) from reign of Alfonso II d’Aragona (1494–​95). Photo: © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

The initial C contains a portrait of King Ferrante, the dedicatee and owner of the work, wearing a simple gold collar with the pendant ermine. The combination of emperors, the use of Alfonso’s medal stressing liberalitas, and the presence of many of the devices connected with the Order of the Ermine underline a continuation of the Aragonese dynasty, and the just rule of Ferrante. An ermine also appears in the frontispiece of Diomede Carafa’s De istitutione vivendi, from 1476 also attributed to Cola Rapicano.103 The text is dedicated to Beatrice d’Aragona, the future Queen of Hungary and daughter of Ferrante who appears receiving the book from Diomede, kneeling on his knees, with the inscription DIOMEDES PERPETVO FIDELIS. Above them is an ermine with a scroll with the word DECORVM, while the border also contains the imprese of the mountain of diamonds, the flaming throne, and the open book, as well as representations of the four virtues. Below, the arms of the Aragonese are supported by the arms of Diomede Carafa with the inscription FIDELITAS.104 Carafa was a member of the Order of the Ermine and the representation of the ermine here certainly symbolises his membership and

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Beatrice’s purity. The presence of the ermine hovering at the top of the page above the dedication portraits, in conjunction with the inscriptions of decorum and fidelitas, underlines Diomede’s allegiance to the king and his daughter. As Beatrice’s text was written on the occasion of her marriage to Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, it may have also encouraged Beatrice to remain loyal to the Aragonese. The ermine appears in other works connected to Beatrice d’Aragona, such as in the border decoration of a Psalter, attributed to Francesco Rosselli, most likely executed after she had moved to Hungary in the 1480s.105 Two devices associated with the Order  –​the mountain of diamonds and the flaming throne –​also appear on floor tiles at the Royal Palace of Buda.106 Two ermines were also depicted on a bust of Beatrice d’Aragona by Francesco Laurana now in the Frick Collection, New York (Figure 40).107 The ermines appear in very low relief on the neckline of her dress accompanied by lilies, alluding to the two Aragonese orders but also both signs for purity, along with the mountain of diamonds at the centre. In addition to the representations of the ermine alone, depictions of the entire collar appear in portraits displayed on sitters. In contrast to the single emblem, the gold collar is a material possession and a worn object, thus representations of the gold collar substitute for an actual object, one that claims exclusive membership in the Order. The bronze bust attributed to Guido Mazzoni now in the Museo di Capodimonte in Naples, sports the collar of the Order with the devices of the open book, the mountain of diamonds, the sprouting stock, and the flaming throne, composing the links of the chain with the ermine as the pendant (Figure 41). As a bronze bust, the relief of the collar on the three-​dimensional sculpture provides the viewer with a solid form and reminds viewers of the goldsmith’s facture of the actual necklace.108 The sitter wears a pinned brooch on his cap, representing the Archangel Michael, the patron saint of the Order of the Ermine. There is some debate around the identity of the sitter. It has long been assumed to be the bust of Ferrante, but recent scholars have suggested that it is a portrait of Duke Alfonso d’Aragona (later Alfonso II).109 Hersey believes it to be Alfonso because of the similarities shared between the bust and other portrait representations of Alfonso and because the sculpture was noted by Scipione Mazzella as originally placed in the chapel in Monteoliveto, a monastery that Alfonso had close ties with. However, Mazzella’s reference to the bronze portrait in his Le vite dei re di Napoli, dating from the sixteenth century, is in his section on Ferrante. Right after discussing the Order of the Ermine, he notes that a bust of Ferrante can be found in bronze in the chapel of the ‘Passione di N.S. Giesu Christo’ in Monteoliveto.110 Similarly, Capaccio also states that the bronze portrait is that of Ferrante.111 Mazzella’s text was published a century after the bust’s execution, but Mazzella provides us with

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40. Francesco Laurana, Beatrice d’Aragona, c.  1471−74, white marble, The Frick Collection, New York, Bequest of John D. Rockefeller Jr., 1961, Accession number: 1961.2.86. Photo: © The Frick Collection.

portraits to accompany his histories of the kings of Naples, and the printed portrait that begins Mazzella’s section on Ferrante depicts the king in a very similar pose to the bronze statue (Figure  42). Here he wears a comparable brocaded gown, with the pendant ermine, although the links of the chain are not those of the Order’s collar, and Ferrante is sporting a crown rather than the beret.112 The ermine is depicted facing right rather than left, a reversal typical in print, and as Mazzella noted that there were a series of portrait busts of Ferrante in Naples, any of these could have provided the model for the print.113 Indeed, the print seems to be a combination of the Mazzoni bust and two marble portraits that exist today. One is in the Capodimonte, which bears an inscription identifying Ferrante and sports a simplified version of the collar without the pendant ermine, the links depicting the flaming throne and mountain of diamonds (Figure 43). The other was sold at Sotheby’s in 2003 and appears as a direct copy of the Mazzoni bronze bust.

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41. Guido Mazzoni, Ferrante d’Aragona (or Alfonso II?), c.  1489–​ 92. Bronze. Museo di Capodimonte, Naples. Photo:  DIOMEDIA/​ DeAgostini/​ G. NIMATALLAH and Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte-​Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo.

The Montefeltro of Urbino employed the device continuously throughout their palaces. The ermine and the gold collar appear in the coffers of the blue and gold ceiling in Urbino and the collar and the ermine are also reproduced in both studioli (Figures 44 and ​45).114 Federigo is represented in intarsia in the studiolo at Urbino sporting the collar of the Ermine, with the ermine pendant dangling (Figure 45).115 The collar as an object in itself therefore appears numerous times in the Urbino studiolo, twice on Federigo, once in intarsia hanging from a cloth on the west wall, and repeatedly in the coffered ceiling encircling the letters FED DUX (Plate VI).116 In the double portrait of Federigo da Montefeltro and his son (Figure 28), the collar and clothing brands the duke as part of the confraternal brotherhood of the Order and links him to other illustrious members. The dual portrait is generally assumed to have been placed in the Urbino studiolo, keeping company among the other famous men depicted there (Plate VI).117 As Luciano Cheles has noted, status and biographical details of the illustrious men are conveyed through four main ‘codes’:  garments, attributes, gestures, and inscriptions, similar to the ways in which the garments and collar play a crucial role in defining Federigo’s identity and status.118 Soon after Federico was made a knight in the Order, a marriage alliance was established between

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42. Portrait of Ferrante from Scipione Mazzella’s Le vite dei re di Napoli. Naples:  Gioseppe Bonfadino, 1594. Photo: © British Library Board: 1199.c.8, p. 318.

King Ferrante’s youngest legitimate daughter, Lucrezia, with Federico’s son and heir, Guidobaldo, both aged two.119 The double portrait thus underlined the close relationship with the Aragonese and the future marriage alliance, yet the employment of the ermine throughout the Urbino and Gubbio palaces also needs to be interpreted in relation to the humanist, intellectual, and rhetorical function of these spaces (and in particular the studioli). In the study at Urbino, the ermine, according to Cheles’s reconstruction, appears below the personifications of Hope and Charity, which he suggests is an appropriate placement considering the ermine symbolised purity (Figure  45).120 Other animals in the intarsia such as the ostrich, the parrot,

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43.  Bust of Ferrante d’Aragona, fifteenth century, Museo di Capodimonte, Naples. Photo: DIOMEDIA/​DeAgostini/​G. NIMATALLAH.

and the squirrel also carry symbolic significance in the form of ethical fables, which were required to be deciphered by the viewer. The iconographic programme of the Urbino studiolo was one in which symbols, texts, images, and portraits worked together to allow the educated viewer to construct meaning. In this manner, the presence of the repeated ermine not only functioned as an attribute for Federigo in constructing his identity as a prestigious member of the Order, but it also aided in the emblematic reading of the entire room. In the case of the Gubbio studiolo, as Robert Kirkbride has argued, the study was specifically designed as a thinking space for the education of Guidobaldo, which used memnotechniques and a density of texts and images to provide a ‘ “Rhetoricus” with not one but endless routes for narrative composition.’121 The books used in the studiolo also contained numerous depictions of the ermine and the gold collar in their illumination, therefore creating dialogues between the different representations. Among the numerous manuscripts depicting the ermine, Federigo’s copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy illuminated by

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44.  Giuliano and Benedetto da Maiano, ermine detail, 1480s. Intarsia. Gubbio studiolo, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Photo by author.

45. Giuliano and Benedetto da Maiano, Portrait of Federigo da Montefeltro (corner), ermine (central panel), squirrel (left). Intarsia, north wall. Urbino studiolo, Palazzo Ducale, Urbino. Photo: DIOMEDIA/​DeAgostini/​G. NIMATALLAH.

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Guglielmo Giraldi (Plate VII) contains a representation of the gold collar at the bottom of folio 97.122 Here the collar is illuminated in gold, depicting the links of the chain with the flaming throne, and a sprouting stock, with the pendant ermine. The ermine stands on a platform of dirt with a scroll, which descends into the border, forming one of the border medallions. The collar encircles the coat of arms of Federigo, accompanied by the letters FE DVX. The same folio also contains a representation of the Order of the Garter, appearing at the top of the page, encircling reclining putti. Furthermore, in the left border, a gold ermine appears in a medallion, and representations of the ermine appear throughout the manuscript. Federigo’s use of the ermine highlights the political as well as prestigious connotations that the ermine could convey, but it also emphasises the ways in which representations of a sign, and its repetition across media, allow for the transmission of its semiotic capabilities. Representations of collars were used by rulers across Europe to convey power, prestige, and networks, such as those of the Jar and Golden Fleece which appear on Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I’s triumphal arch, acting as decorative embellishments.123 Maximillian’s attention to genealogy and heraldry is explicit throughout the arch, and Albrecht Dürer’s representation of the collars of the Order of the Jar and the Golden Fleece underline the international networks of such orders, as well as the ability of their depictions to signal social and political prestige and obligation. Besides the employment of the ermine device in Urbino, Ludovico Sforza (Duke of Bari and later Duke of Milan, 1494–​1500) also employed the device in diverse ways. Ludovico had received the Order of the Ermine in 1486 and married Ferrante’s granddaughter Beatrice d’Este of Ferrara (daughter of Ercole d’Este and Eleonora d’Aragona) in 1491. Relations with the Neapolitan kingdom soon soured, however as the Aragonese were disparaged at Ludovico’s ill treatment of Isabella d’Aragona (granddaughter of Ferrante and wife of Duke Gian Galeazzo Sforza, who ruled Milan with Ludovico as regent). Even worse, in 1494 Ludovico allied with the French, irrevocably damaging the balance of powers and peace within Italy and threatening the Neapolitan kingdom. It was during this tumultuous period that Ludovico commissioned two works from Leonardo representing the ermine. A drawing in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge by Leonardo da Vinci, usually dated between 1489 and 1494, depicts the ermine being captured by a hunter, and has been suggested to be the design for a medal (or possibly a fresco) for Ludovico Sforza (Figure 46).124 In the drawing, Leonardo has not depicted any ermine, but specifically that of the Order.The stance of the ermine is the same pose depicted on the collar and in manuscript illumination, and furthermore, it is accompanied by a scroll.Without a clear date, it is hard to pinpoint a specific interpretation of the drawing within this political climate.The reference to the

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46.  Leonardo da Vinci, The Ermine as Symbol of Purity, c. 1494. Pen and brown ink over slight traces of black chalk, on paper. Photo: © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, 7503.

Order with its historic roots in betrayal and clemency might have been suitably commissioned after the French Descent when Ludovico was attempting to repair relations with Italian powers or it might have been earlier, when he was trying to stake his claims to the throne and bolster his power by flaunting his political connections to the Neapolitan kingdom. It might have even been a way to demonstrate loyalty, when it was obvious that his fidelity to Ferrante was wavering. Beyond the political significance, Leonardo’s manuscripts attest to his interests in bestiaries and, in particular, in the ermine as a symbol of moderation. The drawing thus speaks to both the ‘natural’ characteristics of the animal as well as the symbolic ones. The ermine in profile faces the hunter’s profile, demanding a comparison between human and animal.The scroll, as if giving speech to the ermine, mimics the branch (or net?) held up by the hunter. Here, Leonardo has reversed the human/​animal dichotomy –​the man hunts, his meaning lies in the act of violence, while the ermine turns to respond to him, with a scroll that presumably would have sported the Order’s motto. The ermine’s scroll gives the impression  –​to use a modern analogy  –​of a comic strip bubble,

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which gives voice to the unspeaking animal. In this sense, the ermine promotes decorum and civility in contrast to the brute force of the human, and therefore most likely alludes to the mottoes of the Order, asking viewers and, more importantly, the knights of the Order to put aside brute force and incivility for civility and harmony. The animal paired with the motto may have even served as a metaphor for the just and fair ruler, similar to the way the squirrel with the collar in the Urbino studiolo has been interpreted as representing the prudent ruler, reversing the conventional idea of the domestication of nature with the notion that human nature can be domesticated, particularly the vice of avarice.125 Leonardo’s ermine exemplifies purity and moderation to counteract the vices of violence, excess, and irrationality. The comparison of the physiognomical features of human and animal, anticipating Giambattista della Porta, is also evident in Leonardo’s famous portrait of Cecilia Gallerani (usually dated to 1489–​90) now in Cracow. The ermine in Cecilia’s portrait –​in its more natural form –​is a play on the sitter’s name in Greek, galée meaning ermine/​weasel, as is well known, but no doubt it is also an allusion to Ludovico and his membership in the Order, as Cecilia was his mistress.126 The portrait is praised in a poem by the Milanese court poet Bernardo Bellincioni who also identified il Moro with the ermine: ‘Tutto ermellin è, se ben un nome ha nero’ and ‘l’Italico Morel, bianco Ermellino.’127 For some scholars this portrait thus serves as a double portrait, if an ironic one, as the poet insinuates –​a pure white ermine to signify a man who was known as Il Moro (the Black one) in a portrait of his mistress whose purity was tainted by bearing his illegitimate child.128 Ermines were often employed on objects associated with marriage in the fifteenth century to signal purity, most notably on banners accompanying triumphs of Chastity on cassoni. Ermines present in female portraits underlined the female virtue of chastity, as it has been argued particularly in the case of Cecilia Gallerani who may have wanted to dispel any rumours.129 However, the ermines appearing on portraits of women who had connections to members of the Order of the Ermine, such as Cecilia’s portrait or Beatrice’s bust, would have combined the existing symbolisms of purity attached to the animal with those of the Order of the Ermine. In Leonardo’s portrait, the artist has played with the sign through mimesis, thus employing the ermine in an allegorical sense, complicating the correlation between signifier and signified, and asking the viewer to work at deciphering the meaning of the presence of the ermine. Even though the portrait conveys a much more realistic depiction of the ermine than the stamp-​like form regularly employed, the animal still has one paw lifted, mimicking the Order’s emblem. Leonardo was fascinated with visual puns, and the ermine may have been an extension of this pictogram tradition.130 There are numerous interpretations of this portrait, but it is likely that the various readings was intentional, as the ermine could register

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on a number of symbolic levels and would provide intellectual stimulation and conversation. These representations illuminate how the immaterial notion of fidelity soon took material form through the repetition and reinscription of the ermine. This reinscription underlines its discursive possibilities through the constant confrontation of the sign in an array of media. As discussed in Chapter  2, images in manuscript illumination representing gems and other precious objects, constituted ways that objects and their stories could circulate in the late Quattrocento. The ubiquitous representations of the ermine in the visual culture at court –​in books in the library, on medals in the studiolo, in portraiture, on architectural decoration throughout diverse palaces, on ephemeral objects from banners to cake decorations  –​establishes a circuitry of images that depend upon each other by prompting viewers to draw connections to similar images in other locations. This larger frame of reference –​beyond the specific image being viewed –​forges connections outside the image. It is thus the idea that circulates, the constellation of references that are condensed into the emblem, activating discussions. The representation of the ermine, from the collar to architectural decoration to manuscript illumination repeats the symbol of the ermine as a stamp, similar to printing and sets up intermedial relationships. It imprints the body and the objects within a network of associations, that is, a set of privileged associations only few were granted. Like a stamp or seal, it both authenticates the objects as well as creates links between loci, forming a circuitry of imagery across media and space. These diverse representations thus worked to reinscribe the original ritual and promulgate the Order. In contrast to the flat sign, the gold collar and the mantle of the Order inscribed the bodies of its members, making the rituals of the Order memorialised through the materiality of these objects. CEREMONIAL: MANTLES, COLLARS, AND BODILY INSCRIPTION

The material objects of the Order  –​the mantle and the collar  –​provided participants with a form of bodily engagement by acting as material memories of the ritual of investiture. The mantle was made from crimson satin, white fur, and white silk, while the gold collar was composed of the various imprese with the dangling ermine, both of which are carefully rendered in the portrait of Federigo da Montefeltro (Figure 28). The repeated wearing of these items on specific days stressed further the transformation of individual bodies into a collective body, while the initial moment of investiture set into motion this ritual behaviour, as detailed in ­chapter 7 of the statutes.131 The statutes outline how the companion-​elect was to first walk to the chapel with all the members of the Order, who were collectively dressed in the vestments of the Order, his body made distinct from the collective body by his lack of the Order’s

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robes. He was then to receive the Order by swearing to obey the statutes, and being dressed and adorned in the mantle and the collar of the Order. Like the popular story of Griselda so often recounted in the Renaissance, the new confratre is made and unmade, stripped and invested, through the unclothing and clothing of the body.132 It is through these rituals of investment that the clothes and materials become invested with meaning, turning the ‘real’ of fur, cloth, and gold, into symbols of membership. Exiting the church, the new confratre would not be the same individual he was when he entered the church, adorned now in the vestments of the Order, he is no longer distinct from his fellow confratri but made and dressed in their image.133 The investiture of Federigo da Montefeltro in 1474 and Ludovico il Moro in 1486 offers examples of the statutes in practice:  the first constituting a visual record, the latter a textual one. A manuscript containing an anonymous oration delivered on the occasion of Federigo’s investiture dated from 1474 depicts Federigo receiving the Order from Ferrante (Plate VIII).134 The script, written in gold lettering, is signed by Joan Marco Cinico, a cartolaio, printer, and Neapolitan court scribe and the illumination is attributed to a Neapolitan miniaturist.135 Three names appear on scrolls framing the scene identifying the three central figures: ALFONSUS DUX; FERANTUS REX; and FREDERICUS FEL CO V. Alfonso is given prominence here as he was invested at the same time as Federigo, something Federigo would have certainly wanted to advertise. Ferrante sits on his throne, while Federigo kneels at his feet, and it appears that the illuminator has captured the moment when Ferrante has just finished placing the gold collar on Federigo’s neck. According to the statutes, this constitutes the final stages of investiture, when the king announces the companion’s entry into the Order, right before the member is to kiss the king in sign of his fidelity. Ludovico Sforza’s investiture provides us with textual accounts of the proceedings. In October 1486, Ferrante sent instructions to Philippo de Galerati and Simonotto de Belloprato, two individuals in the service of King Ferrante, to invest Ludovico Sforza by proxy with the Order of the Ermine in Milan.136 The reason for the investiture, as is explained in a letter from Ferrante to Pirro d’Azzia, the Bishop of Pozzuoli, was in recompense for Ludovico’s help during the Baron’s Revolt and war with Innocent VIII, stressing the political implications of bestowal.137 Indeed, Ferrante made sure to inform Philippo that he must stress the notion of honour associated with the Order as a means to maintain peace during this ‘very turbulent and dangerous time.’138 Ferrante’s instructions given to Philippo and Simonetto for Ludovico’s investiture follow the statutes closely, and demonstrate that even twenty years after the initial founding of the Order, the statutes were still strictly followed. Both Philippo and Simonetto were to bring the chapters of the Order along with the ‘other necessary things to be given with this said impresa.’139 In a letter from November

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1486, Ludovico wrote to the Bishop of Como Branda da Castiglioni, noting that he had ‘solemnly accepted and [was] invested/​vested [with] the Impresa of San Michele [the Order of the Ermine] that by His graciousness King Ferrante had sent’ (‘solemnemente acceptato et vestito la Impresa de S. Michele che ne ha per sua gratia mandata la M[aes]ta de S[igno]re Re Ferdinando’).140 Here Ludovico notes that he not only accepted the Order, but uses the word vestito, which in Italian serves both as a noun –​that of clothing or cloth –​as well as a verb –​to be dressed or to get dressed. In both English and Italian, the word vestment closely resembles the word investiture, appointing someone in a position, that is, to invest that person with a title. Ann Rosalind Jones and Peter Stallybrass have examined how, in the early modern period, ‘investiture, the putting on of clothes, […] quite literally constituted a person as a monarch or a freeman of a guild or a household servant. Investiture was, in other words, the means by which a person was given a form, a shape, a social function, a “depth.” ’141 For them, clothing was bestowed with meaning and memories integral to its materiality, which was ‘richly absorbent of symbolic meaning.’142 Livery was thus one of the ways bodies were marked, associating them with certain institutions and subordinating them within a social hierarchy.143 Dress and costume, as Bronwen Wilson has argued could serve as the location of identity and alterity.144 It was the things worn over the body that became sites to locate difference as well resemblance. The collar and the mantle were crucial components of the rites detailed in the last thirteen ordinances of chapter 14 of the statutes regarding expulsion. The ritual of expulsion underlines how through the adornment of the body –​ by means of clothing and jewellery –​the confratre was named and unnamed. If the votes from the Sovereign and companions led to the expulsion of the member, an expulsion ceremony was to take place where all confratri were to dress in full-​length vestments of black cloth, announcing the sentence and the convicted confratre was to have the insignia of the Order taken from him.145 First the mantle was to be taken from the expelled member, and the King of Arms was to cry out ‘This man is no longer worthy of anything through which he might be numbered among the knights of this Order.’ If the initiation ritual was to make all bodies one –​a collective body in the wearing of the same clothing and collar –​then the expulsion ritual unnamed the perpetrator as a member of the group by taking his vestments.146 Members were to wear the habit of the Order when engaged in the Order’s business, on feast days, and during ceremonies and meetings. The confratri were to process in their collars and vestments to the services on the eve, morning, and evening of the feast.147 This collective wearing by members across Italy and Europe would have unified a disparate body of individuals across geographic space on specific days. Jones and Stallybrass have explored how the metaphor of clothing as printing appeared frequently

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in early modern literary references, where clothes had the ability to leave a ‘print or character’ upon both the observer and wearer.148 Similar to the stamp of the ermine found across media, and like the inscription of the statutes transcribed every time a new member was elected, the member’s body was first imprinted with the vestments of the Order on the day of inauguration, and then repetitively remade, reprinted, and reinscribed every time the bearer put on his robes and collar. The collar and the robe thus not only reinscribed the body through the ritual dressing on particular occasions, but they also worked as ‘material mnemonics,’ speaking to memories of subordination and collegiality, while also serving to aid in the performance of identity when represented in portraiture.149 The ermine had a dual symbolic meaning: as an emblem, the animal could stand for fidelity, purity, and moderation; as something worn, the fur signalled opulence and wealth, and was often featured in sumptuary laws as restricted for royalty or nobles.  The black tip of the creature’s tail was often used, which meant that many tails, and thus many ermines, were required to adorn the exquisite robes worn by the nobility (see for example the fur around Federigo’s collar in the dual portrait, Figure 28).150 The importance of dress, and the attention paid to different types of clothing and fur at this time can be detected in the precise descriptions in ambassadorial reports. For instance, the chronicler Giacomo noted that on 16 May 1494 Virgino Orsini entered Naples, wearing a ‘scarlet gown lined with ermines, with a red hat with ermines lining the interior.’151 As a member of the Order of the Ermine,Virgino’s gown was presumably the Order’s mantle. The collar was probably the most valuable object attached to the Order. Jewels and jewellery were important social markers for both men and women in the early modern period, as discussed in Chapter 2. Not only symbols of wealth, they had names, were invested with histories, and exchanged hands numerous times. Their movement and exchange gave them their value –​both economic and symbolic –​and were crucial in initiating, solidifying, and complicating social relations.152 As described at the beginning of this chapter, the collar was composed of various Aragonese devices as well as the ermine pendant, which dangled below, visible on Federigo’s portrait (Figure 28) and in the representations in manuscripts (Plate VII). The devices that made up the collar were allegorical symbols representing decency, justice, and honesty, which stood for the Order and its members. These devices seen all together linked the various symbolic meanings and metaphorically stood for the chain’s ability to gather its various members into unification (‘that it be composed (colligato) of stocks […] and […] of chairs […] in such a way that they are joined (collocate) together.’) The statutes also detail the regulations of its use in chapter 10, stating that confratri were to wear the collar for the feast of Saint Michael Archangel, from

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the first vespers until the second vespers inclusive.153 They were also required to wear the collar once a week, on the same day of the week on which the Feast of Saint Michael (29  September)  fell that year. Knights of the order were also required to wear the collar in battle, and if the whole collar was too inconvenient to wear, they were permitted to wear only the ermine (the pendant was presumably detachable).154 In chapter 15 the statutes instruct the companions that after their death the collar and the ‘other insigni’ were to be returned by their heirs within four months to the ‘ecclesia de Sancto Michaele’ or to another appropriate location.155 Considering that the collar was highly valuable, such a rule would ensure that it was not melted down and that only knights bestowed with the Order could bear the designated collars. It is likely that the financial obligations of the Capo of the Order of the Ermine were similar to those of the Orders of the Golden Fleece and Garter, which required him to provide the physical facilities for the Order’s activities, to pay for its festivities, and to provide the collars and vestments.156 This would have also provided a further obligation and indebtedness for the bearer of the mantle and collar, sporting jewellery and expensive clothing bestowed upon him, and yet always belonging to the king, a knightly equivalent to the jewels bestowed on a bride by her husband.157 In examining contemporary documents, it becomes apparent that a gold collar in general, apart from its association with an order, was rich in meaning and integral to the formation and maintaining of political relationships. Its value lay in its communicative ability to signal social messages within the political intrigues of fifteenth-​century court relations.158 Gold collars were common diplomatic gifts as King Ferrante often gave gold collars to foreign ambassadors upon departure from his realm.159 Gold collars could also be given as wedding presents. Duke Alfonso d’Aragona gave a gold collar to the daughter of the Prince of Bisgnano in 1485 for her marriage to the nephew of Diomede Carafa.160 In October 1472 Francesco Maleta also reported to the Duke of Milan that the king had ordered that gifts be given to Eleonora d’Aragona for her nuptials to Ercole d’Este. He noted that Alfonso gave his sister Eleonora a piece of gold brocade, a gold collar, and some silver that had been given to him in Florence.161 Particular types of gold collars were easily observed by the discerning eye and were put on show either on the body or in the treasury. For instance, in 1465 Eleonora d’Aragona’s collar was described in a letter to the Duke of Milan as ‘a gold chain of several strands around her neck, like that which Lord Antonio Cicinello wears,’ Cicinello being the Neapolitan ambassador resident in Milan.162 The political dimension of the gold collar is perhaps most telling in an exchange of letters between Ippolita Sforza, Duchess of Calabria and her brother, Galeazzo Sforza, Duke of Milan. On 1 January 1474 Ippolita wrote to Galeazzo, informing him that she had seen the gold collar that he had sent to

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the ‘Mag[nifi]ca Contessa Camerlenga,’ presumably Antonella d’Aquino, who was married to Innico d’Avalos, Count of Monteoderisio.163 Ippolita writes that the contessa was extremely surprised by the gift, and informed Galeazzo that she had ensured that the contessa knew that Galeazzo had given the gift in reflection of the great love that he felt towards the contessa and her husband.164 Francesco Maleta also wrote to the duke noting it was shown to Ippolita and Alfonso d’Aragona, among others and that Ippolita believed such a gift would make the contessa obligated to the Duke of Milan.165 On 1 March 1474, Francesco Maleta wrote to the Duke of Milan, reporting that a certain ‘Z˚’ would continue to be very useful in Naples, and necessary for Galeazzo.166 This mysterious ‘Z˚’ appears repeatedly throughout Maleta’s correspondence in his reports to the Duke of Milan in the 1470s as a code name for an individual who is constantly providing Maleta with useful confidential information.167 The letter of 1 March 1474 informs Galeazzo that to ensure that Z˚ continues to supply them with restricted and important information and maintain their secret contract, Maleta encourages Galeazzo to give Z˚ a gold collar to ‘his lady.’ Furthermore, Maleta informs the duke that Ippolita believes that such a gift will show the duke’s love for Z˚ and the collar will bear much fruit.168 Ippolita Sforza who was constantly caught in conflicting loyalties between her natal family, the Sforzas of Milan and her marital family, the Aragonese, was very astute at understanding the political intrigues and how to best manipulate individuals into her service.169 Gold collars could thus be seen as a sign of political allegiance, and such a gift not only symbolised relations, but also constituted those alliances in the form of a bribe. The mantle and the collar were worn objects, conveying allegiance to the Order and the Aragonese, and served to connect disparate bodies across time and space. This was apparent when they were worn and represented in portraits and across visual culture, but references to the Order by the end of the fifteenth century could take on a more arcane form, as is evident in allegorical representations of the Order. ALLEGORICAL REPRESENTATIONS OF THE ORDER OF THE ERMINE: ERCOLE DE’ ROBERTI’S FAMOUS WOMEN

Three last representations that function together to symbolise the Order of the Ermine through allegory rather than the stamp-​like symbol of the ermine will be considered. The panels were probably painted by Ercole de’ Roberti in the 1480s or early 1490s when he was working in Duchess Eleonora d’Aragona’s apartments in Ferrara. The paintings depict the three stories of Portia, Lucrezia, and the unnamed wife of Hasdrubal, who were antique heroines (Figures 47–​49). Ruth Wilkins Sullivan has convincingly interpreted the three paintings as engaging with the Ermine’s theme of ‘death rather than dishonour.’

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47.  Ercole de’ Roberti, Portia and Brutus, c. 1486–​90,Tempera, possibly oil, and gold on panel, 19 3/​16 × 13 1/​2 in. (48.7 x 34.3 cm). Photo: © Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth, Texas, AP 1986.05.

This motto in its original Latin (malo mori quam feodari) was a recurrent theme accompanying representations of the ermine impresa.170 These panels do indeed reference this motto, but it is suggested here that the interpretation of these three paintings should not be restricted to this single motto, but rather they refer to the other mottoes of decorum, probanda, and the associated virtues attached to the collar outlined in the statutes:  justice, decency, and honour. Like many of the paintings that Roberti painted for the duchess, there is no exact record in the account books, but the theme of the paintings as well as their Este provenance have led most scholars to conclude that they were probably spalliere intended for one of Eleonora’s rooms, presumably one of her

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48.  Ercole de’ Roberti, The Wife of Hasdrubal and Her Children, c. 1486–​90? Tempera on poplar panel, 47.3 × 30.6cm. Photo: National Gallery of Art, Washington, Ailsa Mellon Bruce Fund 1965.7.1.

studioli.171 While most of the objects in Eleonora’s collections were religious in nature, as discussed in Chapter 3, these three panels follow the stories of famous antique female heroines, a theme closely connected to Eleonora. She was the dedicatee of Bartolommeo Goggio’s De laudibus mulierum, and she was included as a famous woman in Jacopo Filippo Foresti’s De plurimis claris sceletisque mulieribus, which was published after her death in 1497 and dedicated to Eleonora’s sister, Beatrice d’Aragona.172 The theme of female muses was also used in the famous cycle in the Belfiore studiolo.The attention to the body and the fact that each heroine inflicts pain on herself would have had correlations

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49.  Ercole de’ Roberti with Gian Francesco Maineri or workshop, Lucrezia, Brutus and Collatinus, c. 1486–​90. oil on panel, 49 × 35.5cm. Galleria Estense, Modena, inv. 50. Photo: By concession of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo-​Archivio Fotografico delle Gallerie Estensi-​Foto Carlo Vannini.

to the religious paintings in Eleonora’s collections, which spoke to the ascetic and bodily transformations prevalent in Ferrarese religious practice, while the order, as mentioned, had a religious dimension. The theme and the literary sources for the paintings have been largely debated. Wilkins Sullivan suggests Valerius Maximus’s Memorable Acts and Sayings of the Ancient Romans as the source for Ercole’s three famous women.173 Although many scholars have accepted Wilkins Sullivan’s contention that the three panels are connected to the Order’s motto, Margaret Franklin and Joseph

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Manca do not find it convincing.174 Franklin has suggested that the panels’ narratives follow Boccaccio’s De mulieribus claris and signal the evaluation of women in the courts at the end of the Quattrocento, while Manca claims the panels are indebted to Goggio’s text, which stresses the themes of constancy and fortitude. Virginia Cox has concentrated on the Portia panel in particular, to demonstrate how the three heroines exemplify feminine virtue and courage within a political context.175 In light of Eleonora’s collections, which incited intertextual relationships between paintings, texts, and objects, as discussed in Chapter 3, it is likely that the three panels drew on a series of texts and narratives about these famous women from antiquity, rather than restricting themselves to one source. Furthermore, the texts that Manca and Franklin argue for, which they contend compromise Wilkins Sullivan’s interpretation, instead, as suggested here, still support a connection to the Order of the Ermine. Within the particular humanistic milieu that the panels were produced, this ‘collection’ or assembly of texts would have provided an intellectual stimulus for viewers, allowing them to piece together their knowledge of antiquity depicted in each panel, and to decipher the motto of the Order of the Ermine in an emblematic fashion. A closer look at the paintings will support this reading. The panel of Portia and Brutus in the Kimbell Art Museum depicts the story of Portia recounted by Maximus, Plutarch, and Boccaccio (Figure 47). As the story goes, Portia took a razor and pretending to trim her nails, she gave herself a wound, which Brutus thought she had obtained through neglect. Portia explains, however that she inflicted the wound to show her loyalty to him, and that she would kill herself if his plot to kill Caesar failed. Roberti has represented this particular moment, with Brutus looking down at Portia’s foot where a wound has been inflicted, while her hands gesture in a manner as if she is explaining her loyalty. This part of the story is found in Maximus’s chapter On Fortitude, and Portia appears again in his chapter Of Conjugal Love, where she swallows burning coals to end her life. This she does after she has heard that her husband Brutus has been slain, and would rather die than end up in the hands of the enemy.176 Boccaccio’s biography of Portia stresses her inheritance of her father’s ‘bravery and perseverance’ and Franklin has seen this as underlining the father-​daughter bond, which was applicable for both Eleonora and Portia.177 Furthermore, Franklin believes the Roberti panel to be influenced by the woodcut that accompanied Boccaccio’s printed version in 1473, both which she claims, refute Wilkins Sullivan’s argument. Manca has interpreted all three panels in reference to a passage found in Goggio’s text where he lists ‘Lucretia, Sofonisba, Portia,Vetruaria and others’ as matrons who are laudable for their constancy and fortitude.178 Thus he believes constancy and fortitude to be the overarching theme, instead of ‘death rather than dishonour,’ and that Roberti chose to substitute Sofonisba with Hasdrubal’s wife.

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The panel depicting The Wife of Hasdrubal and Her Children (Figure  48) housed in the National Gallery in Washington is an unusual subject and has no precedent in fifteenth-​century iconography. It is described in Appian’s Punic Wars as well as Maximus, and the tale is also mentioned in Boccaccio’s De Casibus Virorum Illustrium and thus the panel was most probably a compilation of antique and contemporary sources.179 Perhaps more importantly for the patron, Hasdrubal’s wife appears in Jerome’s Adversus Jovinanum in a discussion of exemplary wives. Jerome, as discussed in Chapter 3 was a prominent saint in Ferrara, and Eleonora collected numerous depictions of him as well as his texts. In Appian’s description of the defeat of Hasdrubal’s Carthaginians by the Romans under Scipio Aemilianus, Hasdrubal’s wife (unnamed) is witness to her husband pleading for his life. Hasdrubal’s wife, upon seeing her husband beg, decided she was not to suffer a similar fate, and immolated her two children and herself in the burning Temple of Asclepius. The story also appears in Maximus’s chapter Of Fortitude.180 Roberti depicts Hasdrubal’s wife among the rubble of the collapsing temple, with her two naked boys, as the flames rise out of the floor. Manca has suggested that this particular subject was chosen, because Eleonora, like Hasdrubal, refused to surrender to her enemies, during the attempted coup by Niccolò d’Este in 1476 and during the Venetian invasion in 1482.181 Wilkins Sullivan has noted that while an exemplar of fortitude, contemporary viewers may have been preoccupied with the ‘moral ambiguities’ of her act.182 Franklin has also noted that the subject posits Hasdrubal as neither an admirable ruler, husband, or father, none of which Ercole d’Este, the husband of Eleonora, would have been eager to identify with. Franklin proposes that rather than supporting the ‘death over dishonour’ theme, the inclusion of this tale stresses that Hasdrubal’s wife was an agent of her own death.183 However, Jerome mentions the motive behind Hasdrubal’s wife’s suicide was to protect her sexual honour, similar to Lucrezia’s.184 Considering Eleonora’s devotion to Saint Jerome, this context is particularly relevant and relates to the ‘death rather than dishonour’ theme. The Death of Lucrezia panel depicts Lucrezia in the act of stabbing herself in the presence of her husband, Collatinus and his companion, Junius Brutus (Figure  49).185 Lucrezia appears in Maximus’s chapter Of Chastity, where she stabs herself after being raped by Sextus Tarquinius.186 The story was well known in the Renaissance, as it was recounted by Boccaccio, and it was commonly represented on panels decorating furniture. Tarquinius was the son of the tyrant Sextus Superbus, who while staying as a guest in Collatinus’s home, became enamoured of Lucrezia and one night entered her bedroom. Finding Lucrezia resistant, he threatened that if she did not comply, he would kill both her and her servant, and would lie that he had killed them upon finding them together in bed. She submitted to the rape, but the next morning Lucrezia called together her father, her husband,

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and her husband’s relative Junius Brutus (a relative of Portia’s husband), telling them the details of the crime, and then committed suicide in front of them all. In the end, Junius Brutus overturns Sextus Superbus, and as Maximus claims, Lucrezia’s death ‘gave the Roman people reason to change the authority of kings for that of consuls.’187 The scene depicts Lucrezia before she kills herself, with Junius and Collatinus portrayed in elaborately rendered armour. Franklin has noted that there is also a correlation between this depiction and the accompanying woodcut of Boccaccio’s printed version, which also only depicts the two men.188 As Lucrezia’s story has often been promulgated as a justification for republicanism, the stories of Lucrezia and Portia could seem like a paradoxical choice for a duchess and a daughter of a king. Franklin has noted that marital chastity, the women’s courage, and political loyalty are emphasised rather than republican motifs.189 Indeed all three stories discuss the theme of justice and loyalty to political alliances, often made through familial bonds. Republicanism might be touted, if it contrasts with tyranny, and thus what is underlined here is clemency in addition to fidelity to one’s moral and political convictions. While most of the scholarship on these panels, and indeed on Eleonora, has stressed a didactic inclination, such a reading limits the ways with which these objects were viewed.190 By analysing the different narratives rendered in each panel  –​a compilation of antique and contemporary sources  –​the series invites the viewer to piece together the various texts and images to construct meaning. This results in an emblematic reading of the panels, referencing the impresa of the Order of the Ermine. Indeed, Cox has argued that that Portia panel evokes female eloquence and engages with the paragone, a suitable suggestion considering the possible context of the studiolo.191 It should be remembered that the motto ‘death rather than dishonour’ is only one of the many mottoes associated with the ermine and that probanda and decorum were also employed. Rather than restricting the theme to malo mori quam feodari, the three donne illustri should be seen as speaking to the larger overarching themes of the Order that stressed fidelity, propriety, as well as the tried, tested, and just ruler. These were also suitable themes that could be easily adapted to promote acceptable female behaviour, exemplified here by the three heroines. Furthermore, the theme of decorum while closely associated with the Order was also a commonly discussed topic in connection to painting and the visual arts, relating to propriety and the need for deference, as well as ‘that proportion, correspondence or conformity that style has with the subject’ in the words of the sixteenth-​century art theorist, Andrea Gilio.192 These themes of the Order also had a particular resonance for both Eleonora and Ercole d’Este. Due to political turmoil and succession in Ferrara during Ercole’s childhood, Ercole was sent to Naples to be educated, and acted as a companion to Ferrante, his future father-​in-​law (yet contemporaries, both being

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born in 1431).193 Ercole received many privileges under Alfonso I d’Aragona, but once Ferrante seized power, Ercole was slighted by the new king and sided with the Angevins, rising up against Ferrante in the rebellion instituted by Marzano.194 Following the defeat of the Angevins at Troia, Ercole returned to Ferrara where he subsequently became the successor to Borso d’Este. Ercole’s marriage to Ferrante’s daughter Eleonora in 1473 repaired diplomatic relations between him and Ferrante, and Ercole was to receive the Order of the Ermine two years later. Ercole and Eleonora’s ties to the Order of the Ermine were underlined in the material culture at court, such as the decorations the court painter Giovanni Trullo executed for the feast celebrating Ercole’s bestowal of the Order in 1475 or the gold ermine Eleonora had commissioned for a hat in 1489.195 The famous women panels thus had not only links to the city in which Eleonora and Ercole were raised, but also signalled political tensions and reconciliations in recent Aragonese-​Este history. The themes of the panels, in particular feminine constancy and women’s role as arbitrators, would have been especially well suited to Aragonese female history. Sabadino degli Arienti’s account of Eleonora’s mother, Isabella di Chiaramonte, tells of the power of her eloquence to save the regime of her husband, King Ferrante during the baronial rebellion of 1459–​62, when she convinced her uncle, the rebel Giovanni del Balzo Orsini, to side with Ferrante.196 The theme of famous women was also particularly relevant for Eleonora’s circle. Eleonora featured as a famous woman in Jacopo Foresti’s treatise De claris mulieribus and the iconography appeared in a cycle of thirty-​ two famous women, including nine Muses in the temporary pavilion erected for the wedding of her niece Isabella d’Aragona to Gian Galeazzo Sforza in 1489 in Milan.197 Ermines, as mentioned, also appear on Beatrice d’Aragona’s bust (Figure 40), another Aragonese woman whose potential marriage partners were used as political pawns for her father. Beatrice had even been engaged to Giovanni Battista Marzano, the son of the treacherous Marino Marzano, to seal a peace agreement between Ferrante and Marino following the Baron’s revolt, but it was soon annulled, and she married King Matthias of Hungary instead. A bust by Francesco Laurana of Ippolita Sforza probably executed after Ippolita’s death, now in the Frick in New  York, depicts various scenes of sacrifice drawn from fabulae (including a woman committing suicide), which resonate with Roberti’s Famous Women, both in theme and political significance.198 The bust was possibly a gift from Naples to Ludovico Sforza and has been interpreted as conveying an overt political message, depicting tales of conspiracies and crimes committed against the legitimate heir(s) to a throne.199 Such a sculpture thus had a particularly pertinent message to send during a tumultuous period in relations between Milan and Naples when Ludovico was attempting to usurp the throne from his nephew Gian Galeazzo Sforza (whose wife Isabella d’Aragona was Ippolita’s daughter and Ferrante’s granddaughter).

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Indeed, rumours had begun circulating that it was the Aragonese who were the legitimate heirs to the Milanese throne. In this context, the bust emphasised Ippolita’s political role as intermediary between Milan and Naples and was offered both as a rebuke and a future warning to Ludovico, as Chrysa Damianaki has suggested.200 Considering that Ludovico had previously been honoured by Ferrante with the titles of the Duke of Bari and Prince of Rossano, the themes of sacrifice, rebellion, and the rightful ruler, could have reminded Ludovico of the oath he took when becoming a member of the Order of the Ermine. Even if the bust was never given as a gift to Ludovico, the themes on the relief panels speak to the mottoes of the Order and to Ippolita’s role as negotiator in diplomacy. References to the Order of the Ermine on objects associated with women connected to the Order, such as the Laurana busts or Roberti’s famous women panels, thus spoke to the importance of women as conciliators and the perceived ‘feminine’ moral courage required in a politically fraught Italy. Without the overt sign of the ermine in profile, the symbolism of the Order of the Ermine necessitated a sophisticated emblematic reading of both textual and visual references, a sort of intellectual game that would have been suitable in the courtly context, and in particular the studiolo. THE OBLIGATION OF THE SIGN: CONCLUSION

The statutes of the Order of the Ermine comprised a manuscript that inaugurated the Order. Bestowed on individuals upon entry into the Order, it was also a material object placed on a bookshelf in one’s library or studiolo, and taken out and referred to. A written text, as Roger Chartier reminds us, is also a material thing that sets practices into play beyond it; there are ‘manifold shifting and unstable relations between the text and its materialities, between the work and its inscriptions.’201 The statutes generated other forms of inscription, as it detailed the rituals and acts that ought to be followed, which inevitably led to the inscription of the body through the wearing of the mantle and the collar. The statutes thus constituted both the symbolic and material aspects of the Order, through their inscription, circulation, and appropriation, giving rise to associations and representation. It was through the diverse modes of the Order –​its materials (diamonds, fur, dung, and gold), its rituals, its sign –​that the Order linked a series of spaces, events, and people. The representation of the ermine in various media transformed a highly exclusive impresa belonging to only twenty-​seven members into a symbol that could have meaning and signification in social practice, not only in Naples but also across Italy and even Europe. The Order of the Ermine was instituted and bestowed throughout the late Quattrocento, a turbulent political period in Italy and abroad. As was

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evident with the horse’s head discussed in Chapter 1, the bronze sculpture as a gift was integral to relations between Diomede Carafa and Lorenzo de’ Medici, engaging both men in a system of obligation and reciprocation. Obligation was a crucial component of the Order, as expressed by Galeazzo Sforza in letters discussing the bestowal of the Order on Ercole d’Este.202 While the horse’s head’s connection to Lorenzo eventually was lost as discussed in Chapter 1, the efficacy of the ermine lay in its inalienability from the Neapolitan ruling family. It was the statutes that declared the obligation required of members, and it was the material objects –​the mantle and the gold collar –​that solidified those forms of obligation and association. But it was the ability of the sign to circulate across time, space, and media that allowed for the signification to take hold. In an Order whose membership consisted of rebellious barons, political contenders, and shifting allies, the mantle and the gold collar unified the collective body.Yet, the tense relations between Ludovico Sforza and Naples, and his ultimate betrayal of Italy when he turned to the French, underlines the instability of political alliances, and underscores the weak and volatile situation most rulers found themselves in. The objects and representations associated with the Order of the Ermine, and their employment across media, thus point to a need to assert authority and legitimacy through material and visual means. This was an attempt to seek new modes of obligation that extended beyond traditional forms of peace negotiations and treaties that had proven to be inadequate. The repetition of the ermine sign acted similarly to citation, where part of a text quoted could reference a whole text or a body of literature. The ermine as representation stood not as a marker with one meaning, but opened a web of associations and meanings. Its depictions on architecture, in manuscript illumination, and in portraiture, allowed for a variety of viewers to engage with the sign, harnessing a constellation of symbolic associations and claims into one repeatable stamp-​like form across metatopical space.

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On 19 November 1495 following the Medici’s expulsion from Florence, the Tazza Farnese (see Figure 16, p. 104) was handed over to Lorenzo Tornabuoni in Rome, as were many other of the family’s highly prized collectibles. Earlier, the goldsmiths and gem engravers Michelangelo de Viviano, Salvestrino d’Antonio del Lavacchio, and Giovanni delle Corniuole had been given the task of appraising these hardstones and gems sequestered from the famous Medici collections, including the Tazza.1 The evaluation of the precious hardstone was specifically sought by experts well trained in the material value and authenticity of gems and jewels, but they were also probably chosen because of Medici partisanship. Despite Lorenzo’s well-​known and highly prized skills in diplomacy and politics, the Medici family’s rise to power was unstable, and they were expelled from the city that they had hoped to rule. The Tazza Farnese, as discussed in Chapter 2, reflects the instability of the political and economic power of those who owned it, and encapsulates many of the concerns that this book has addressed. The Tazza was (and is) a complex object –​an ancient hardstone from Egypt, which was carefully crafted to manipulate the best qualities of its material. Its cultural, aesthetic, and monetary value was embedded in its uniqueness, age, craftsmanship, survival, and connection to illustrious individuals. Its fairly large size and the fact that it was carved on both sides, meant that it posed challenges as well as possibilities for display as well as engagement. Its circulation was largely determined by its material, aesthetic, and monetary values. 208

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Worth a large sum of money, it could be used as liquid capital, but once in an owner’s possession, it was shown off to visitors as a highly prized collectible, connected to knowledge, rather than economics. The dispersal of the Medici collections in 1495 points to the very paradox of these collectibles and the tensions inherent in the relationship between people’s possessions and their identities. Indeed, it demonstrates that the decades spent acquiring, choosing, negotiating, and manoeuvring objects to be housed in the Medici collections could all be lost with a single blow of expulsion. In 1253 the Tazza belonged to Frederick II Hohenstaufen of Naples, but by the early fifteenth century, it had ended up in Persia, where it was drawn by Mohammed al-​Khayyam either in Samarkand or in  Herat.2 It has been suggested then that the Aqqoyunlu ruler, Uzun Hasan in Tabriz either owned it, or at least one of his immediate predecessors did. How or why the object left Frederick’s collection and went to Persia is unknown –​it might have been stolen or sold or presented as a gift by Frederick II. But because there are at least two hundred years between Frederick’s possession of the hardstone and its location in Persia, it may not have left Italy until the fifteenth century. Uzun Hasan was in diplomatic negotiations in the fifteenth century with Venice, as they sought an anti-​Ottoman alliance. He was known to be a collector and is recorded receiving precious gems and porcelain through diplomatic gift exchange with various powers. It thus may have entered his collection or his predecessors’ collections through such a route.3 In the mid-​fifteenth century,Alfonso I d’Aragona, King of Naples is recorded purchasing the Tazza from either a Genoese or Venetian merchant. How it ended back in Italy is also unknown; it may have been through the Venetian route, or through direct exchanges with the Ottoman Empire. The object was then recorded in 1465 in Ludovico Trevisan’s inventory, the Chamberlain of the Apostolic Camera. Pope Paul II acquired it from Trevisan and then in 1471 Lorenzo de’ Medici obtained the precious item when he oversaw Paul II’s estate. Lorenzo’s acquisition underlines how it was through such objects that a merchant banking family sought to buy their power and prestige.4 This book has paid close attention to the circulation and exchange of objects within the Italian courts. A traditional approach to court culture has been to examine one particular court and to understand the artistic products of that court as a reflection of the prince and his courtly milieu. This book has challenged that method by revealing the multifaceted ways that objects and people circulated between courts, underlining the important role that objects played in the creation and dissolution of courtly networks within the Italian context. The Tazza Farnese, however, suggests that those networks were not insular or restricted to Italy, but were indeed part of larger transcultural networks. Little is known about the Tazza’s reception in Persia, but the methodology employed in

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this book would argue that the possession of such an object by a foreign prince cannot be reduced to the explanation that there was simply a ‘shared’ taste across courts. Rather, objects shift in value and meaning as they are exchanged, and the approach of histoire croisée or ‘crossed history’ put forth by Michael Werner and Bénédicte Zimmerman seems particularly appropriate when attending to this sort of circulation or translation across cultures.5 Histoire croisée analyses both the global and local not simply from a comparative point of view, but by investigating the multilateral entanglements of multiple actors with varying viewpoints. Those actors, as this book has argued, were not only subjects but also objects. Histoire croisée also underscores the necessity of expert perspectives for any work that analyses cross-​cultural entanglements or encounters. It has been my intent to focus solely on Italy to understand the networks at play across courts within the Italian peninsula, providing an in-​depth analysis within a limited geographic and historic area. But this book is intended as a study that will pave the way for scholarship that looks at larger courtly networks and the roles that objects play both within a local and global setting. Court account books, inventories, and ambassadorial reports certainly point to much larger cross-​cultural entanglements at play. This is evident for a court such as Naples, which was often ruled by foreign families and whose proximity to North Africa and the Ottoman Empire meant that these courts were constantly present –​as territorial threats as well as fruitful sources of exchange in trade and culture. This is also apparent in Duchess Eleonora d’Aragona’s account books where a wide range of goods with provenances outside of Italy and Europe underscore the global dimensions of her collections. Cross-​ cultural exchange and transfer in early modernity are all burgeoning areas of study, which have tended to focus on later centuries and are still rather scarce for the courts of the fifteenth century.6 It is apparent from the examples in this book that no court was closed or a finite entity dependent on a sole actor such as the prince, but consisted of shifting networks of people and things. Underlining the multiple actors at play within what in traditional literature has been understood as a monolithic ‘Italian Renaissance,’ can help us move forward in considering the Italian courts’ relationships with other courtly powers beyond the peninsula.7 The approach of this book has attempted to break down boundaries such as ‘north’ and ‘south,’ providing a methodological framework for examining intercultural relationships and exchanges, and hopefully in the future will enable further reconsiderations of other binaries such as ‘east’ and ‘west.’ This study has also underlined that the fifteenth century was a time when things changed rapidly and frequently, and there is a critical need to pay attention to the particulars of time and space. Politics were volatile, and the value of things also changed quickly. The varying evaluation of the Tazza Farnese certainly provides an indication of the constantly shifting value of things (and the pitfalls of historical

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records). Frederick II Hohenstaufen is recorded paying 1,230 in Neapolitan gold currency for it, while Alfonso I  d’Aragona is said to have paid 1,000 or 2,000 ducati for it. In a letter from 1480, when owned by Lorenzo, it was valued at 4,000 ducati but in his 1492 inventory, it was appraised at 10,000 ducati. However, it was given a low value when it was evaluated by the aforementioned goldsmiths and gem dealers when taken from the Medici in 1495. Finally, in the 1537 inventory of Duke Alessandro de’ Medici, it was noted that Alfonso had paid 12,000 ducati for it, Lorenzo had bought it for 3,000, and it was valued at 2,000.8 The variations in price reflect variations in the market, but also political and social motivations. The evaluators of the Medici goods when the family was exiled were likely providing a low appraisal so that the Medici could later reclaim the items at a low cost. At other times, the prices of works were inflated to demonstrate the power and prestige of the owner or as attempts to outbid or scare off other potential buyers. Object knowledge thus featured prominently in an individual’s ability to appraise not only the object but also the information he or she was receiving. The purchasing, exchange, collection, and lending of goods thus depended on networks and trust, as well as sizing up risks and potential risks.The mutual relationship between people and things has been something that has been stressed throughout all the chapters of this book.Taking the object as a starting point, it has examined objects’ relationships with subjects in conjunction with modes of exchange, to highlight how these three things come together to determine value. Thus, it has drawn on anthropological theories around gifts and biographies, as well as theoretical concepts regarding the agency of things, but it has attempted to demonstrate the importance of particulars, specifically in relation to the material and visual. Not all objects act in the same way or solicit the same form of engagement or the same mode of exchange. An object’s material qualities often determined its mode of exchange, as did the person giving or receiving it. Gems, for example, could be pawned or used as capital for loans, but their links to antiquity and their uniqueness meant that they were prized individually. This singularity did not preclude them from the economic sphere, rather the eagerness of collectors to own them at one point in their lifetime, meant that they were willing to put up the cash when they had it, to own the object even if it meant for a relatively short period. Other types of objects had a more arcane value and their meaning depended on often complex semiotic readings. The value of the diptych explored in Chapter  3 was less dependent on its material and more on its aesthetic value as it engaged in poetic pictorial language. The diptych’s meaning was constructed through its relationship to other objects in Eleonora d’Aragona’s collections and the particular humanist, artistic, and religious debates at the court of Ferrara. Similarly, the significance of the emblem of the ermine depended on its function as a sign, which referenced the Order of the Ermine

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and its associative meanings, including fidelity, international membership, and Aragonese hegemony. However, the accoutrements –​the Order’s collar and fur mantle –​depended more on their material rather than a particular relationship to language. These objects –​the emblem, the mantle, and the collar –​could only be bestowed, and their circulation was thus restricted, but nonetheless deeply imbedded in notions of indebtedness and obligation. The emphasis on obligation is an essential element of the Maussian gift, exemplified by the large bronze horse’s head gifted to Diomede Carafa from Lorenzo de’ Medici during a particularly fraught political period, as explored in Chapter 1. The material of bronze was often reserved for large-​scale public sculpture, and this statue was indeed the fragment of a larger monument. Bronze, like other precious metals, could be melted down when times were financially tough, and could even be transformed into instruments of war, in the form of cannon.The value of this object laid not only its material qualities, however, but also its representation –​a sculpture that either was an antiquity or looked like an antiquity, and that spoke to the prestige embodied in the equine. But objects are also about subjects. The horse’s head was deemed an appropriate gift because of the political power Diomede Carafa had over the King of Naples.The gesture of the gift was entangled in a series of gifts and counter-​ gifts tied to political and diplomatic negotiations. But as this book has shown, it was not only gifts that were bound up in complex ties of honour, indebtedness, and reciprocity. Even the terms of economic exchange, such as loans, pawns, and credit, were deeply rooted in these principals.The exchange of objects was often about taking risks, and perhaps the most exciting, if dangerous element of exchange was the unknown consequences. Would the acquisition of a new gem put one into too much debt and lead to notoriety, or would its acquisition and consequent display build up one’s reputation? Would one’s careful selection of objects for a collection end up being dispersed at one’s death and result in the loss of not only the collection but also one’s identity? Would the loaning of a significant amount of money to an important ruler prove useful in a merchant banker’s future rise to power or come in handy when he was in trouble with the law, or would this sum never be repaid and result in his financial ruin? Would an art object given as a diplomatic gift achieve the necessary political results one was looking for? The answers were not usually straightforward, but often had ripple effects that became more embroiled according to the layers of exchange over time. As this book has demonstrated, defining objects in the fifteenth century as a gift or a commodity is limiting. Rather it is the modes of exchange and the expected or even unexpected results of those exchanges that bring out the very salience of things. The ambiguity of some objects could define their particular usefulness in gift exchange. In other instances, such as a diamond ring, the economic value of the object was so obvious that its uniqueness and

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individuality was emphasised through endowing it with a name, to add virtuous value beyond the monetary. The constant emphasis on the virtues of magnificence and splendour, rather than merely a celebration of consumption, was also a response to an increasing anxiety around the world of goods. The memento mori message on the front of Eleonora d’Aragona’s account book (Figure 1), even if it was simply a fleeting thought, signals an uneasiness around possessions. In the second half of the fifteenth century, defining value was becoming a complicated, if not controversial endeavour. Value was no longer only determined by material or economic worth, and this had particular consequences for the establishment of value itself, not only of objects but of the people who owned them. Value was no longer something concrete; it was undefined and at times ambiguous, linked to new cultural understandings where aesthetics and rarity had a role to play. If the self was defined through objects, and the value of objects was shifting according to these new cultural principles, then the definition of the self was also precarious. That precariousness might benefit those who were seeking ennoblement, and through cultural pursuits and the possession of ‘virtuous objects’ could augment their own status. But the very understanding of what was a ‘virtuous object’ had to be learned, connected to the sort of object knowledge one acquired through the close interaction with specific objects. If a beloved crocetta belonging to a duchess could be pawned and unretrieved, eventually making its way on the open market to be bought by any ‘merchant who wants it,’ what was the distinction between the aristocrat who had owned it and the merchant that was buying it? The exchange of objects worked to enhance the value of many objects –​through gifting processes or by linking a possession to an illustrious individual. Objects were not simply virtuous in themselves; it was through their exchange, collection, and relationship to other objects and to texts that individuals attempted to endow them with virtue.The new spaces of collection reflected and contributed to this shift in the value of objects, but so did the associated practices, which ranged from the listing of purchased goods in an account book or the compilation of an inventory to their exchange –​through pawning, loaning, gifting, or purchasing. With the emergence of the studiolo as a cultural space and the development of collecting as a past time deemed fit for a prince, works of art were often compared to literary texts to ennoble them. These claims for ‘mute poetry,’ as this book has shown, were not simply about the paragone. They were part of the social positioning of artists, humanists, and the viewers of these works, marking the beginnings of a new poetic pictorial language that would develop even further in the next century, where the complex mythological paintings by artists such as Titian or Mantegna would grace the studioli of Alfonso and Isabella d’Este. In the fifteenth century, this relationship between words and

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pictures could be found in the paintings of Ercole de’ Roberti destined for the studiolo, but also in the employment of the Order of the Ermine across media. Rarity was also becoming another register of value, as emphasised by Giovanna Pontano, the Neapolitan humanist: On some occasions rarity can also determine value. It is said that [King] Alfonso [I d’Aragona of Naples] jumped for joy when Ciriaco d’Ancona gave him a metal plaquette (elettro),9 which contained a fly with its wings spread: a very small thing, but its rarity made it great in the eyes of the prince, who was measuring not its price, but its rarity. Sometimes art makes an acceptable gift. What did the same Alfonso keep with such pleasure but a picture by the painter Giovanni [Jan van Eyck]? There are some that prefer the tiniest little vase of that material which they call porcelain to vases of silver and of gold even though the latter are of higher cost. It does happen occasionally that the excellence of the gift is not judged so much by its cost, as by its beauty, its rarity, and its elegance.10

In this passage, Pontano outlines the new types of objects that were increasingly ornamenting the studioli of not only the elite but also a fair amount of middling sorts who were ascending the social scales, such as merchant bankers, humanists, and artists. A plaquette copying a famous gem, as seen in Chapter 2, could sometimes stand in as a proxy for the real thing, when the original was not easily obtainable. Works of art, as Pontano notes, and as examined in Chapters  1 and 2, were also increasingly becoming suitable gifts, sometimes operating as ‘mute diplomats’ or negotiators. Pontano also points to the larger global networks at play, when he mentions Chinese porcelain, a rarity in fifteenth-​century Italy before the sea routes to China had been discovered by Vasco da Gama. Before the sixteenth century, these sorts of materials were coming into Italy not directly from China, but via Persia and then usually as diplomatic gifts from the Mamluk and Ottoman Sultans, or through merchant bankers with commercial ties in the Levant. By comparing porcelain to gold and silver, Pontano is remarking on a new class of goods –​not valued for their material worth, but for their ‘beauty, rarity and elegance,’ terms that are not easily definable except by those whose mission or status is to define them. Placing emphasis on the rarity of an object places agency on the object, by alluding to its ability to surprise or delight the beholder –​even to jump for joy. Scholars interested in the agency of things argue that we are often only made aware of objects when they stop working for us.11 But we also notice objects when they are novel, especially when they solve a particular problem or when their design, material, or technology is innovative. This novelty is certainly evident in an object (Figure 50), which was eagerly sought and collected by many of the people encountered in this book –​Filippo Strozzi, Ercole d’Este, Eleonora d’Aragona, and the Medici.12 This perfume burner falls into the category of what is often called ‘Veneto-​Saracenic,’ referring to the particular decoration

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50. Venetian?/​Syrian? Perfume burner, c. 1450–​1500, Brass, pierced, engraved, and silver damascened with black lacquer infill. Photo: The Victoria and Albert Museum, M.58–​1952.

originating in Mamluk Syria, but that was later imitated by Venetian craftsmen. The uniqueness and peculiarity of the artefact, however, is not only defined by its decoration. These types of objects could serve multiple purposes, as they were used for burning incense in the Islamic world, and in Italy they could serve this function by being hung up to scent the air with perfume; but they were also used as hand warmers and as decorative pieces. The object is much more complex than at first sight, for when it is opened, the interior reveals a gimbled mechanism, which allows for whatever is being burned to stay upright and thus continue to scent the air. The object defies gravity during mobility, whether it is swung or even rolled.The ability of the interior to always stay upright despite whatever the human actor might do to it highlights its agency. It could be said that this object thus provides a metaphor for the adaptability necessary for life at court, in line with the perfect courtier’s ability to adapt to any situation he finds him or herself in. But this emphasis on self-​fashioning would place undue weight on the object’s ‘self ’ as a stand-​alone actor.The object only moves because of the human actor who propels it, although its particular material and technological qualities are what makes the actor drawn to it in the first place. It is also not uniquely ‘Italian’ or even a ‘courtly’ object. It is a ‘hybrid’ or composite object that reflects, and contributes to, cross-​cultural transfers of technology, design, and motifs, which were related to larger political and economic exchanges. The traditional approach to court studies, and Renaissance consumption in general, is to embrace Pontano’s and other humanists’ concepts of magnificence in a celebratory manner to underline how the collection of virtuous objects reflected the magnificence of the prince. What remains ironic, is that this approach often leads to studies that articulate how the prince’s qualities are found in the objects, rather than starting with the objects themselves. The objects discussed in this book are not merely background noise or

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audience members within courtly pageantry, but take centre stage. The anxieties, aspirations, values, and desires of the courtly elite can certainly be found in the objects, but by starting with the object, those particular values are not taken for granted, linked to a priori assumptions about the people involved. Recent studies that have started examining royal courts from a global perspective seem to have inherited the old starting point, exemplified in the first line of a recent edited volume: ‘At the heart of any royal court stands a ruler, more often male than female.’13 The Italian Renaissance court, as this book has argued, was not only located in the body of the prince, rather it was composed of the subjects and objects who were actants in shifting networks of exchange. The objects that made up the collections of the princely elite in the fifteenth century cannot be seen as simple reflections of their patrons. Rather as this book claims, the artefacts exchanged, copied, collected, displayed, and worn are the instruments by which the modern court historian/​art historian can begin to grasp the complex cultural and political parameters of what we call the ‘court’ and, just as importantly, its relationships to other courts.

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APPENDIX: ELEONORA D’ARAGONA’S INVENTORIES

Records of Eleonora’s possessions appear across account books, some of which are inventories while others track her goods as well as record purchases or commissions. Her inventories are not organised by room but rather types of goods. This appendix is not exhaustive –​it does not transcribe her entire inventories, and what is included and excluded here is determined by what is most useful for the discussion in Chapter 3 and is thus primarily focused on paintings and the content of her library. This is extremely misleading, as Eleonora had a very large collection encompassing a wide range of material culture, including an incredible collection of ceramics, hardstone vases, and tapestries. This will not be dealt with here, but I do intend to publish more of her inventories, specifically her ceramic collection. I  have included some material culture, however, particularly some of her crosses and in some cases tapestries where the description is not clear what the material is (e.g., ‘ancona’ that could easily be cloth or a painting). Some of these contents have not been published before, but some parts have appeared in Franceschini’s two-​volume transcription of the Modenese archives and Campori’s earlier transcription, where it was recorded as the general guardaroba, rather than Eleonora’s possessions. Some of the books also appear in Bertoni’s inventories of the Este library. Spelling and punctuation have been left as in the original, with minimal intervention in square brackets when needed.

Material Goods (such as paintings, altarpieces, mirrors) ASMO AP 640, 1487–​93 An ongoing inventory of Eleonora’s possessions, taken for no evident reason.

25V chroxe una di cristallo guarante di argento como lpe [perle?] dorate como la sue guaine pexe G vintetre……1 G 23 Spec [chio] uno di arxento picholo como il scoto pe di veluto neg˚ como la fiche et ny zioli senza con zolla dorato pesa G doe etri quatro…………G 2 6/​8 61V Spechio uno messo doro con la arma di la conte damataló [Diomede Carafa] Lo quale spechio e roto et fa adopera in guardaroba….n.1 124V Anchona una í casate como la pasione fatte alatodesche com santy franc˚ e santy Ieronymo vechio……n.1

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Anchona una in casado como eL volto santo e San Franc˚ e san pietro martoro Anchona una como uno cristo suxo zoe la faza como a mezo busto et una coltrinela di tafite e uno drapo di raxo alexandrino vechie…n.1 Quadro uno como la nostra dona in mezo cum suo fiolo in brazo vechio…n.1 125V Anchona sei altromòtano di piu sorte in suxo la tela tirate suxo la asse di piu faze…n.6 Anchona una di avolio intargliate como molty siante che se asera la quale e molto antega…………n.1 Nostra dona doe di tela como soy fioly in brazo di la quale grand una dorate…n.2 e adi xxvy di magio 1491 quadreto uno dove Lanostra dona conpessa da Zoanne FRanc˚ azully dama’toe [mantova]…………n.1 Anchona una in casada como la nostra dona e suo fiolo in brazo come una coltrinela uno drapo di ta bi [verde] atorno la quale e rotte………n.1 126V Dente Uno dalifantte como apara a Lib 101 dal sua…n.1 Ova una picola da polvere intagliate como la sua casa di vinzi…n.1 Vaso uno di vedro zelistro da aqua da odoro como figure suxo come una cadrirla e coperchuto darxto e la suo fodra di corre……n.1 127R Dente uno contraste di [?]‌ad…g …1490 lo quale la illma lo fize date a… [blank] dasandallo per fare so forma davolio dacharamoro l a quale roba fiore de spina…n.1 127V Dona una di malmoro la faza suo a mazo busto como ly capely in una cassa di legno la quale manca uno [?]‌di lachio…n.1 Selpolchero uno di tera lo qyale fe m˚ guido paganyno [Guido Paganino= Guido Mazzoni] in una casete dorate….n.1 163V palio daltaro pichollo di brocato g˚ e dalmascho biancha plo oratorio di castello di la Illma [Madama] talgio m˚ tomaxo como al˚ racord 1492…. (285……………n.1

ASMO G114, 1493 Inventory taken after Eleonora’s death 75R Uno ovo di struzo cum figure dentro e uno specchio

75v Uno specchio di azalo dopio da doe late di ramo smalato Una anchona di ramo smaltata cum una maiesta e uno sepolchro Una nostra dona di marmoro biancho col figliolo in brazo Uno sancto hieronymo di marmoro biancho schieto Doe pietade di marmoro biancho intagliate Uno sancto Sebastiano di marmoro biancho Uno sancto Antonio da padoa di marmoro biancho Uno sancto Vinrenno [Vincenzo?] di marmoro biancho Uno presepio di marmoro biancho intagliato

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Una anchoneta dipincta cum uno sepolchro e uno christo cum una croseta di argento dorata in cima Una capseta di osso intagliata e dorata Uno specchio di azalo in uno tabernacelo di legno dorata Uno altro specchio di azalo in uno tabernacolo di legno dorato Una capseta lavorata di le paste di frate francesco Una anchona di avorio e osso di relevo intagliata e dorata Una capseta grandesola di pasta di fraze francescho Una pace cum vidri reliquie dentro Una pace cum uno sancto B[er]nardino Una anchona cum uno Christo nel monumento di pasta Una anchona cum uno presepio cum lavori di pasta intorno Una anchona cum mezo relevo lavorato cum paste intorno Una anchona ala todescha lavorata cum figure di la passi[on]e Una anchona cum un vedro coperta cum il crucifixo e altri Sancti Uno quadreto cum una nostra dona depicta in tela ala fiamenga Una anchona cum uno Christo di mezo relevo cum dui angeli lavorata di pasta intorno 76R Doe capsetini picole lavorata di pasta Uno specchio di vedro in uno quadreto lavorato di pasta intorno e lavorato Una capseta grande di pasta di li lavoreri di frate francesco Uno spechio cu pasta di moschio intorno di le cose di frate franc˚ Uno altro spechio da uno lato e da laltro lato uno vedro cum ture [torre?] e altre cose intagliato Uno spechio in triangolo di osso intarsegliato Uno coffanino lavorato di le paste di frate franc[esco] Uno altro coffaneto di le paste di frate fran[cesco] Uno caffanino dorato cum figure Uno spechio da uolio [avolio] col pede roto [or roso?] Uno calamaro quadro cum quadro capsete lavorato di le paste di frate fransc[esco] e dorato Uno calamaro facto a modo rové [?]‌dorato e dipincto facto a modo di paste Septe sedarine lavorate di piu lavoreri Una capseta la banda denanzi da [doe?] diaspese e il resto di legno coperto di veluto cremesino cornisato intorno di argento fino cum li suoi pedi: e cum le manete sue di argenta cum li Capi Uno quadro dorato cum uno specchio grande Una anchona grande cum Sto franz [s. Francesco] di mezo relevo cum la coltrinella denanti di cendale cremesino dorata intorno Septe ove di struzo 89R Tre croce di legno dorato cum reliquio dentro

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una croce di cristallo cum le pede di argento dorato: e i Crucifixo di argento dorato una croce cum il pede di madre di perle e nostra dona e Scto Zoanne di di dicta madre di perle 89V Una capseta cum una nostra dona di marmoro biancho 126V Tredese pezi di tela depincte di fiandra computa due a tellari di figure denote Uno sepulchro cum christo e le Marie in una capseta dorata e cornata 133R uno quadro di legno depincto cum le marie di mano di andrea Mantenga [sic] Uno quadro di legno di pincto cum nostra dona e il figliolo cum serafini di mano del sopradicto mantenga [sic] Uno altro quadro retracto dal sopradicto di mano di uno modenese Uno quadro di legno depincto cum una nostra dona cornizado colon’ e frixi e architrava alanticha Una nostra dona in tela ala fiamenga suxo uno quadro di legno cornisato e dorato una anchona simile ala sopradicta tene la Illma anna [Sforza] nel suo oratorio uno quadro di legno cum uno christo di pincto di mano del Bellino Uno quadro di legno cum uno christo di pincto in candia uno quadro depincto di uno sancto francesco di legno il quale há la p[refa]ta Ill m[adam]a anna [Sforza] nel suo oratorio una testa di marmoro da dona facta ala francese in una capseta uno quadreto depincto cum uno sudario una anchoneta cum uno christo e le marie coperta di vedro cornisata e dorata Uno quadro di tela depincta cum una nostra dona una tela suxo un telaro depincta S. Sebastiano 133V una anchoneta che se assera cum uno presepio da un lato e un christo nel sepolchro da la altro lato una anchoneta che se assera a modo di libro coperta di veluto morello cum broche e azulli di argento dorati da un lato il persepio e dal altro un christo nel sepolchro un quadreto cum una nostra dona depincta cum angeli e altre figuri cum le cornise dorate intorno Una anchoneta dipincta cum un christo e altre figure depincta in charta in un quadreto di legno cornisata e dorate Un quadreto dipincta cum uno christo e un angelo cum uno vedro intorno cornisato e dorato Uno quadreto cum una depincto cum uno christo e le marie cornisato intorno e dorato Un quadreto cum una faza di christo di mezo relevo cornisato e dorato Uno quadreto depincto cum uno Sto hieronymo cornisato e dorato Uno quadreto dipincto cum tuta la passione cornisato e dorato Uno quadreto depincto cum uno christo e Sto francesco e altre figure cornisato e dorato Uno quadreto depincto cum la passione cornisato e dorato

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una anchona che le asserra cum doe porte di osso e avolio intarsegliato e dorate cum figuri assai di mezo relevo 134R uno Tabernaculo cum una cazalone ala todescha lovorate di marchasita che vae atorno ferundo [?]‌che se menano cornisato e dorato uno quadro cum uno beato bonaventura di pincto suxo una tela depincta suxo una asse cum uno christo e nostra donna cum una coltrinella rossa una tela depincta suxo uno quadro una nostra dona una anchoneta depincta cum sto augustino e sta monacha dorata intorno uno tabernacelo cum uno christo di relevo e altri sancti di relevo dorato una tela depincta cum uno christo e nostra dona in uno telaro di tela Uno quadreto depincto cornisato intorno cum paste cum uno christo Una tela depincta suxo una asse cum uno christo e marie Una tela depincta suxo una asse cum uno christo e zudei Una tela depincta suxo un asse cum li apostoli e christo a tavola una anchona di mezo relevo che se asserra in due parte cum uno christo e una nostra dona e Sto Zohanne uno spechio di azale in uno quadreto che se assera cum doe porte cum lavorieri intagliati di lavorieri di legno Uno spechio di azale tondo ni uno quadreto cornisato e dorato Uno spechio di azale quadro grande in uno quadro di legno cum la soa porta di legno di mezo relevo dorate

ASMO AP 30 This is a busta that contains a variety of documents, including an inventory of part of the Castel Vecchio, which lists goods belonging to both Ercole and Eleonora. Objects in Ercole’s inventory include numerous portraits, some religious works, including a number of altarpieces (ancone and anconette), and some books. Perhaps most interesting is a large mountain made out of silver with a variety of castles and animals decorated with precious gems. Starting on 41v begins an inventory specifically of Eleonora’s goods. It is not clear what prompted this inventory and we do not have a clear dating for it either. However Eleonora’s inventory is dated 13 August and is marked as a Wednesday with no year, which leaves four possible dates: 1477, 1483, 1488, or 1494. The inventory is not extensive, and suggests that it might have been written once both Eleonora and Ercole had moved into their separate accommodations.

42V Uno san Zorzo [Giorgio] a pedi di diamante lavatura e la p/​sona di dicto doro cu la sorpa smaltare di v/​de soto li pedi cu’ al srudo [?]‌facto a rose cu’ quatro diamantinj e quatro rubineti pexe in tuto octani quarto 44V Una figura di nra dona doro smaltata vestra d azuro cu’ lo suo fiolo in braza che zast suso uno stalino in mezo due colune cu’ uno volto doro smaltato dntrovia e nel gialmo [conto] sono balasso uno testo tavole dui zafrej tavole uno mazoroto daltro 2 quatro p[er]le cu’ una rachinella pure doro di sopra

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du attarne cu’ u na corona de p[er]le in rapo pexa in tuta onza vintedue octani septe. Uno spechio di arzento dorato e smaltato cu’ larma ducale di sopra e uno tondo intorno via di taverchi in volto cu’ octo rosette azure everde [….] Altre rostre dorare schiette intorno ala lure e dal roverso una nra dona pure smalt cu’ il suo figliolo in braza e due anzoli [angeli] uno da ogni lato p[e]‌xa in tuto cu’ la luce onza quaratana e octani Cinque Unaltro spechio doro azoielino dintorno cu’ sua girlanda e roseta de smalto bianche rosse e verde in tonro ala lute e un altra e ple e rubinitj 2 dintorno via da spechio d perle cu una andona facta a stranio modo da pirare in lo quale gia sono dalato da la luce rubiniti octo che vane fazone e perle octo pure di varie fazone in la gie landra e perla trenta in la grelanda e va intorno e dui altri rubinj e uno diamate dspexe et daltro lato gia e la nativita di xpo d smalto cu’ due girlande de rubinj e ple e rosete di piu e diverse fazone in lo quale gia sono rubinj E ple disoptre e disopra gia e duj diamantj frasole e uno rubino rodolo pexa int uto onze quaranta nove e meza 45R una anchoneta di arzento dorato cu’ una pietade de smalto azuro cu’ uno troncho intorno via e uno christo in cima cu’ larma de la case de sotto l[ette]re che dice eleo[nora] duce[ssa]. Ferr[ara]. frac cu’ uno manego di dredo pexe in tuto onze vinte nove e meza Unaltra anchoneta darzento dorate cu’ una nra dona vestita di biancho smaltato quale e schiatato cu’ una corone de p/​le insistra e el suo fiolo in braza la quale nra dona ast suso uno staluno che gie e ple tre tonde 2 dalassi quatro rasti cu’ uno rechiovolto di sopra cu’ uno porcho di cendinelle da alttacare pixa in tuto onze desdotto quaretj uno la quale ha el manego el dado da more e da mettere Una anchoneta di arzento dorate e smaltata tuta cu’ la passione del nro sigre da uno lato, dalatro la nativitade de nro Sire in uatro rosette de rubinetj da rocha tasti pez caduino lato cu’ una nra dona di sotto intagliata in una predia a modo camarino e dalatro lato uno cristo cu’ el pede informa del p de calixe pexa in tuto onze desepte quartj uno 47R Una anchonetina picola picola doro c’um una nra’ dona di smalto vestita di rosso cu’ uno xpo in braza e dalatro la croce, pexa octani uno e mezzo Una targetina[?]‌doro cu’ uno San xpo’foro [cristoforo] cu’ xpo in spalla d smalto e dalatro lato uno agnus dio cu’ altre figurete pexe octanj uno Unaltra anchoneta doro smaltata picola picola cu’ due figure da ogni lato vestiti di rosso e uno filo smaltato di biancho intorno pexa octanj uno caratj Cinquecento 48V Una anchoneta doro che se apre in due p[ar]te cu’ la pietad/​di uno lato e dalatro nra dona cu’ il fiolo in braza e sta catherina e dal lato dfore dui altrj santi Per andare p/​to ogni cose di smalto pexa onze septe quartj uno Unaltra anchoneta di arze’to che se apre in due p[ar]te cu uno sto’ zorzo [giorgio] da uno lato e dalatro nra dona cu’ il fiolo in braza cu’ due anzoli, et

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sancto et smalto dorata e dalatro difore cinque bozo per lato piexe onze tre octanj Cinque Uno San Zorzo a cavalo di matre perle in uno sendeto darzento dorato cu’ uno fogliame smaltato di verde cu’ dixe p[er]lete in torno pexa onze una octani septe Uno quadreto de arze’to dorata intorno una Cu’ uno sto francesco de smalto e da lato roverse tuto biancho pexe onze doe e meza[…] 49R Una anconeta picola doro ala francese cu’ sa’to Sebastiano e una sa’ta che tene uno campanale di smalto lavoratj dallato roverso ala parasina pexe octanj cinque Uno camaino cu’ quatro figure suso in tagliata legato in uno co’tenello di argento odorato e dal roverso una testa de vespesiano di piala cu’ uno vedro despre. Una agata cu’ una figura di nudo intagliate in nuo[?] Cu’ uno cantinello doro dintorno le quale egate e di tri colorj Unaltro camaino cu’ uno sto’ christoforo cu’ xpo [christo] in spalle legato in uno cantanello doro cu’ uno sudaro depinto da latro roverso Due anchonete picole cu’ duj santj Doro intorno ma’ una cu’ uno Sto Iacomo suso, da laltro lato uno vedro cu’ due figurata fruste, e suso laltra una anu’tiata [annunziata] cu’ uno vedro rosso dalatro lato

Books AP 638, 1478–​85 This account book begins with tracing the movement of objects and then later turns into an inventory.The book is dedicated largely to silverware and textiles (see the introduction to this book for a discussion of AP 638).The books are numbered as in the original. 138R Libri die piu sorte

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Breviario historiado cop/​to [coperto] de panno doro in lettera ultramontana Plinio de naturale instoria in papiro astampa cop/​ta de montanina rossa El genesis primo libro della Bibia coperto de veludo negro Prologo de Sto gironimo sopra Daniello propheta coperta de veludo negro Exdra propheta et principio del secundo volumo della bibia cop/​to de veludo negro

138V 6. Legende de Sancti cioperto de veludo alexandrino 7. Vita de sancti padri coperto di corame negro 8. Della inmortalia de Lanima cop/​to de veludo alexandrino in papiro astampa 9. Passione de Christo in papiro coperto de veludo verde 10. Soliloquij de Sto Agustino coperto de veludo alexandrino

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139R

11. Stimulo de amore de iesu christo coperto de veludo negro 12. Coginitione de peccati et della confessione coperto de raso lionado 13. Officiolo coperto de panno doro fornito de arzento historiado   Nota che lo soprascriptio officiolo Mma lo dono a Ma Isabella suo figliola adi 7 de novemb 1480 14. Officiolo o psalmista coperto de raso morello   Nota chel soprascripto el miss/​el porto alla Exta de Madama como apare al memoriale ap 4 15. Via del paradiso coperto de veludo v/​de 139V

16. Officiolo de nostra dona cop/​to de veludo v/​de   Nota che la Exta de Madama have el soprascripto adi 12 de marzo 1482 et portollo el Miss/​como apare asp 5 al memoriale 17. Psalterio coperto de veludo verde 18. Disciplina delli spirituali cop/​to de veludo v/​de 19. Publio cornelio et Garo flaminio cope/​te de montanina rossa 20. Sancto Gironimo coperto de corame morello stampado alla damaschina 140R

21. Contessa Matelda coperto de raso lionado 22. Lamento de Nra Dona della passione de christo cop/​to de zetenino alexandrino   Qsto ha in qsto d. B trotto 23. Sancto Gironimo del dritto vivere coperto de veludo negro 24. Miracoli de Nra Dona coperto de brasilio stampado in papiro latino et vulgare 25. Spero matteriale in papiro coperto de Brasilio 140V

26. Tractato de sore coperto de Brasilio sta’pato 27. Non ha titulo coperto de veludo alexandrino 28. Fatio de Uberti coperto de montanina rossa cu’ la tella 29. Vita de sancti padri in papiro coperto de montanina rossa cu’ la tella 30. Vita de Sta Gironimo et altre cose coperto de Montanina 141R

31. Fioretto della bibia in papiro coperto de montanina in cartonj cu’ tella 32. Schalla de paradiso in papiro coperto de brasilio cu’ tella 33. Specchio della croce coperto de montanina rossa cu’ tella 34. Della pacientia di Sti padri coperto de Montanina rossa cu’ tella 35. Oratione sopa la passione de christo in papiro cop/​to de brasilio stampado cu’ tella

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141V

36. Sancto B/​nardo della confrentia coperto de montanina rossa 37. Petrarcha Sonecti et triumphi coperto de brasilio stampado cu’ tella 38. Di quello ha afare lanima christiana secundo li sancti padri cop/​to de carmesino 39. Officiolo on vero spalterio coperto de corame verde stampade alla damaschina   Nota che la Extia de Mma have el soprascripto adi 12 de marzo 1482 et portollo el Miss/​como apare al libro memorial asp 5 40. Honori de cesare in charta bambasina senza albe fu posto le albe 142R

41. Laude del Signore Re ferrando in papiro in cartoni coperti di Montanina rossa astampa 42. Laude de nra Dona che fece el cornazano cop/​to de Brasilio stampado in cartonj   Presta a Madona Lucretia figliola del signore duca nostro 43. Laude della Illma Madama Lionora Duchessa de Ferrara gpto de Mo’tanina turchina 44. Laude della sopraditta Madama coperto de giallo stampado 45. Tractato de una sore del corpo di Xpo coperto cu’ cartonj di tella coperto   Questo soprascripto fu reso alle sore del Corpo de Xpo adi 8 di Luio 1479 per che era suo me disse salvia di commissione de Madama 142V

46. Legende et altre cose in papiro coperto de Montanina rossa in cartoni cu’ tella 47. Officiolo de Nra Dona coperto de canevago de intera ultramontana 48. Tractato de don Michele in papiro cu’ fondello biancho 49. Volume bambasino in lra’ corsia [corfia?] latino nudo 50. Volumo bambasino in lra’ corsia che tratta de pappa Ugenio nudo 143R

51. Revelatione de Sta Helisabetta babasino cu’ lalbe nudo 52. Boetio de consolatione cop/​to de brasilio stampato cu’ tela infrancese 53. Comandamenti de Christo coperto de rasilio stampato in francese 54. Testamento vecchio coperto de montanino verde in francese 55. Volume coperto de biancho che tratto de Re in francese 143V

56. Volume coperto de Motnanina in francese 57. Volume … [blank] ha Pellegrino de p’ serano in p’sto 58. Fioretti de sto Francesco coperto de montanina biancha 59. Officiolo uno de nostra dona cop/​to de raso verde cu’ razi a doradi cu’ signacolo fornito de perle

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  Nota chel deito officiolo la Extia de Mama lo dono adono Alphonse suo figliolo adi 7 de noveb 1480 60. Officiolo uno de nra dona cu’ due figure de argento nel principio cuside stampado alla damaschina   Nota che la Extia de Madama tiene dicto officiolo   [143 to 154 are blank] 154R

61. Pistole et evangelij astampa in papiro coperto de brasilio stampado 62. Prediche de fra Roberto astampa in papiro coperte da brasilio stampada 156R Fornimenti da cavallo de piu rasone cu’ staffe morsa et speronj

AP 640, 1487–​93 133V Libro uno chiamato p’olago Sopr Exdera profite coperto di velute neg˚ come duj azuly di axto dorate…n.1 Libro uno chiamato genisise coperto di veluto neg˚ como duj azuly di arxto doraty…n.1 Libro uno chiamato p’olago di santo hieronymo coperto di veluto nig˚ come duy azuly de arxento dorate…n.1 Libro uno chiamato lezende di santy padri coperto di veluto alesandrino come duy azuly di arxto dorate…n.1 Libro uno chiamato dela in mortalita alanyma in carte bonbaxina a stampa coperto di velute alesandrino como duy duy azuly di axto doraty….n.1 Libro uno chiamato chiamato lapasoe´[La passione] di xpto [christo] in rima incarte bambaxina coperto di velute v[er]de como uno azulo arxto dorate….n.1 134R [blank] 134V Libro uno chiamato stimole de amore di Iuxo xpto coperto da velute nigro come uno azulo ….n.1 Libro uno chiamato oficiolo di nostra dona segó do [seguito? da] santo do menego [S. Dominigo] coperto di veluto v[er]de come duj azuly di axeto dorate….n.1 Libro uno chiamato Laude del Sr Re Ferrante [d’Aragona of Naples] coperto di Montanyno rosa incarte bonbasina astampa come azule di cordo’ [cordone]. ….n.1 Libro uno chiamato governa anyma coperto di velute cremesino come uno azulo di ottone in carte bona…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato disiplina di spiritualy coperto di veluto v[er]de como duy azuly di arxeto in carte buona….n.1 Libro uno chiamato vie a paradixo coperto di veluto v[er]de como duy azuly di axento in carta bona….n.1 135R: [blank]

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135V Libro uno chiamato el vivere di santy hieronymo coperto di veluto nig˚ come duy azuly arxto in carte bona……….n.1 Libro uno chiamato oficio grande instoriado e a miniado como litere paraxine in carta bona coperto di brocado doro morelo come azuly daxto….n.1 Libro uno chiamato il petracha sonete e triumfy coperto di brasilio in carte bona stampado como una coperte di tela biancha…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato saltero in forma di oficiolo coperto di raxo morelo come uno azulo….n.1 Libro uno chiamato saltero in forme di oficiolo coperto di velute verde como uno azulo…n.1 Libro uno chiamato da la Cognoscere de ly pechate e di confesi[one] coperto di raxo lionado como tri azuly di ottone………….n.1 136R [blank] 136V Libro uno chiamato vite e lezende di santy padry coperto di curame nig˚ in carte bona stampa como duy azuly di arxto ….n.1 Libro uno chiamato Timore filialle coperto di veluto alesanydrino cum duy azuly darxt dorate…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato plinio di naturale Istoria coperto di motanana rossa in carte papero…. ….n.1 Libro uno chiamato fazo di uberty In carta bona coperto di montanino come sopr coperta una di tella biancha……….n.1 Libro uno chiamato libro di Santy padri in papiro coperto di metonyna come la tella atacha biancha…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato vite di santy hieronymo e altre cosse in carta buon coperto di malonyna com duy azuly di ottone……….n.1 137R [blank] 137V Libro uno chiamato fiorete de la bibia in papero coperto di cartó senza azuly lo quale e vechyo e strazato…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato spechio dela croxe coperto di metanya rossa in carta bona como duy azuly di ottone………….n.1 Libro uno chiamato schala a paradiso in carte di papero coperto di braxilio cum la tella biancha. ….n.1 Libro uno chiamato pazenzia di santy padri in carte buona coperto di metonyna rossa come la tella atorno…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato oratione Sopr la pasione di xpto [christo] in papero coperto di braxilio stampato…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato Publio cornelio et Garo felaminio in carte bona coperte de montanyo rossa…….n.1 138R [blank]

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138V Libro uno chiamato Santo hieronymo in bona carte coperto di curame morelo stamapdo ala dalmaschino…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato contessa matelde coperto di raxo lionada in bona carte…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato mirachuly di nostra dona in papero coperto di braxilio stampada….n.1 Libro uno chiamato soly lochy di sianti augustino coperto di veluto alisandrino….n.1 [crossed out with note below:] a di 18 luno 1492 fo dato ala Illma Ma aver per ado per aldo [?]‌in nel suo oratorio Libro uno chiamato spare materealle in carte bona coperto di braxilio…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato santo b[er]nardo di confrentia coperto da montaninio in carte bona……….n.1 Libro uno chiamato saltero oucre [?]‌oficio coperto da corame V[er]de stampato ala dalmaschino…….n.1 Nota come ad 19 di aprille 1492 la Illma Ma dono la sopr dito libro a una suora alo messa sua in in il monastero di suore catelina la qlle vene da modena 139R [blank] 139V Libro uno chiamato honore di zixaro [cesaro] in papero como alba di legno…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato Laude de la Illma Ma coperto di montan’ torchino in carte bona…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato oficio di nostra dona picollo coperto di cormerazo [?]‌como uno azule di axento in carte bona…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato Tratato di don michele in carte di paprero come la albe di legno…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato letra corsia p litra [?]‌coperto come alba nudo vechio…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato Tratato di papa ugenio in papero coperto como alba nude litra corsie….n.1 Libro uno chiamato revalzione di nostra dona e sante [e]‌lixabete copreto como albe nudo in carte di papiro…….n.1 140R [blank] 140V Libro uno chiamato boetio di consolazione in carte bona coperto di braselio stamapto in franzexe ….n.1 Libro uno chiamato commadamento di xto [christo] in franzixe [francese] in carte bona coperti di braxilio stampato……………n.1 Libro uno chiamato Testamento vechio in franzexe in carte bona come la albe di legno coperto di molane v[er]de strazate…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato dlre [del Re?] in franzexe copert como albo di legno tuto strazato e vechio…….n.1 Libro uno in franzexe in carte bono come albe di legno coperte di metanyna biancha vechio e strazate…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato fiorite di sancto franc˚ in carte bona come albe coperte di mantanino biancha…….n.1

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141R [blank] 141V Libro uno chiamato oficiolo come figura doe d arxto in nel principio e stampato ala dalmaschina…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato pr[e]‌diche] di Fra Rob/​to in carte di papario astampa como albe di legno coperte di montani rossa…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato pistolla evangely astampa coperta di una pcho [?]‌rosso….n.1 Libro uno chiamato Rigule di dira oficij to in carte bona coperta di matanyna rossa senza azule ….n.1 Libro uno chiamato Inventario dela Roba che dete in dote lo marchexa di Mantova in carte bona coperto di motanino morella…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato orat[ione] e salmy in carte bona picollo como la albe di legno coperto di braxalio rosso…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato transito dela morte in carte bona come la alba di legno coperto di braxilio roso…….n.1 142R Libro uno chiamato p[re]diche dypistolle di rob[ert]o contraste fo dato q di 18 aprille di commissione di Ma ala Illma Ma Anna pto Zoanne [?] ….n.1 142V Libro uno di fare uno picolino in carte bona coperto di motina rossa…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato li modi di confisare in carte bona coperti di raxo neg˚ come uno azale di axento…….n.1 Libro uno di confisione in papero astampa come albe di legno vechio…….n.1 Mesalle uno in carte bona coperto di braxilio stampato schrito a pina come la coperte di raxo alesandrino come azuly di ottone…….n.1 Messale uno in carte bona scrito a peno coperto di motanyno como la coperte di brocado doro crimexino come ly azuly darixto [darxento] ad xi di agosto Libro uno chiamato bibia astampate in papero ala dalmaschino daxto coperto di rosso la qualle la di… [blank]…….n.1 143R: [blank] 143V 1491: Libro uno chiamato bibia incarta di papiro astampa la quale fo co mp[rat]o da M˚ Franc˚ da Castillo ad 9 di magio bugini?[?] al ligate la qualle fo fate ligare como una coperto rossa…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato vangely e postolle [evangely e epistili] instoriad[o]‌coperto di braxilio comprato da M˚ Franc˚ di Zolgy Cartolara…….n.1 Libro uno chiamato bxuzo [?]‌coperto di mantana stampate…….n.1

G114, 1493 133V uno plinio vulgare astampa ligato cum le albe di legno e uno fondello e suoi azulli in charta bambasina

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Uno brevario da camera grande scripto in charta di capreto a penna coperto di raso alexandrino cum la sopra coperta di tabi lionato fodrata di canzante?[?] cum quatro azuli di argento. Miniato Uno breviario grande di charta di capreto scripto a penna meniato e Instoriado coperto di raso morello e la sopracoperta di brocato doro morello fodrata di raso cremesino cum dui azuli di oro smaltati Uno breviario picolo scripto a penna in capreto meniato e historiado coperto di raso cremesino la sopracoperta di veluto nigro fodrata di cendale nigro cum cordellini doro e argento intorno cum dui azuli di argento lavorati ala paresina e le correzole di argento triato. Il pede del signanilo di argento lavorato ala paresina Uno altro breviario picinino di capreto scripto a penna miniato: coperto di raso alexandrino: la sopracoperta di veluto morello fodrata di dalmascho biretino cum una cordellina di oro intorno cum dui azuli di argento. il quale adoperava madama ogni giorno Una messale scripto in charta di capreto a penna miniato coperto di raso biretino: La sopercoperta di veluto alexandrino fodrato di canzante cum una cordellina di oro 134R intorno e quatro azuli di argento dorati Uno messale di charta di percora miniato coperto di brasilio cum la sopra coperta di raso alexandrino fodrata di cendale rosso vechia e strazata Uno messale in charta buona miniato coperto di curame azuro e la sopracoperta di veluto lionato fodrata di raso verde cum dui azuli di argento: il quale tene le Ill ma Anna ala capella Esdra propheta in charta buona scripto a penna coperto di veluto nigro cum dui azuli di argento dorato Uno messale in charta buoona scripto a penna miniato di brasilio sopracoperto di veluto nigro fodrata di canzante cum li azuli e ottone: il quale tiene lo Illu don Alfonse Il Genesis. in charta buona coperto di veluto nigro cum dui azuli di argento dorati Il testamento nuovo in charta buona scripto a penna coperto di veluto nigro cum dui azuli di argento Legende di sancti in charta buona scripte a penna coperta di veluto alexandrino cum dui azuli di argento dorati Libro dela Immortale anima facto a stama [stampa?] in charta bambasina coperto di alexandrino veluto cum un azulo di argento Lopera di facio di li uberti cum le chomento scripto a penna in charta di capreto coperto di montanina rossa. la sopracoperta di tela vecchia cum li azuli di ottone 135V Epistole e evangelij in charta di bambaso a stampa vulgari coperta di brasilio Op[er]a di Sta Catherina da Siena vulgare astampa in charta bambasina Commentarij di Caesare in charta di capreto scripto a penna. Miniato e ligato coperto di veluto alexandrino cum quatro azuli di argento

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Uno officina di nostra dona in charta di capreto miniato historiato coperto di curame nigro la sopra coperta di raso morello: fodrata di cendale biretino cum una cordellina di oro in torno e dui azuli di argento dorati: il quale donoe Barsthio[?]‌Di Cavalieri a Madama Legende di Sancti Padri in charta capreto scripto a penna ligato e miniato coperto di braxilio cum dui azuli di argento Legenda de la beata Catherina da Siena in vulgare scripto a penna coperto di citanino a veludato di piu colori cum sui azuli Uno officio di nostra dona in charta di capreto miniato e historiato coperto di braxilio la sopracoperta di veluto nigro fodrata di cendale nigro Uno officiolo di nostra dona di charta di capreto tuta in morello scripto a penna di l[ette]re di oro e di argento miniato e historiato di figuri di oro e di argento coperto di raso cremesino forniti di cantoni di argento dorati cum il capo di sopra di li signanli di argento smaltati:  la sopra coperta di veluto nigro fodrata di raso morello cum una cordellina doro in torno intorno e dui azuli di argento cum una annuntiata di mezo relevo 136R Un diurno di charta di capreto scripto a penna coperto di curame morello canuzato cum la sopracoperto di veluto cremesino fodrato di canzante cum dui azuli di argento Uno libro deltimor[e]‌filiale scripto a penna in charta di capreto miniato coperto di veluto alexandrino cum dui azuli di argento dorato La disciplina di spiritualii in charta buona in latino coperto di veluto verde scuro cum dui azuli di argento dorati Un tractaeo intitolato via di paradiso in charta di capreto scripto a penna: coperto di veluto alexandrino cum dui azuli di argento dorati Uno officio di nostra dona miniato e historiato in capreto scripto a penna coperta di veluto verde cum dui azuli di argento dorato Stimule di amore in Iesu Christo. in charta buona scripto a penna miniato coperto di veluto nigro cum uno azulo di argento dorato Il cornazano in carta di capreto scripto a penna in l[ette]r’e di argento tute, miniato coperto di raso cremesino cum recami suxo li cantoni, e in mezo di relevo cum dui azuli di argento smaltati Uno psalmista on vero libro da psalmi e oratore in charta bona scripto a penna cum dui azuli di argento coperto di veluto verde Uno diurno scripto a penna in capreto miniato e ligato coperto di curame rosso cum il capo de signaculi di argento e oro triato: la sopracoperta a veluto nigro fodrata di cendale nigro cum lo azulo di argento dorato e la corezola Di argento tirato Sacnto hieronymo del drito viv[er]e in charta di capreto miniato coperto di veluto nigro cum dui azuli di argento dorati Uno psalmista on libro da psalmi in charta buona scripto a penna ligato miniato coperto di raso morello cum uno azulo di argento dorato

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136V Abbreviatione di psalterio in vulgare scipto a penna e capreto miniato: ligato e coperto di dalmascho morello cum uno azulo di argento Confessionario in capreto scripto a penna. coperto di raso nigro cum uno azulo di argento dorato. Uno officiolo di nostra dona di lettere ultramontan’ in charta buona miniato historiato: coperto di curamo rosso stampato ala damaschino cum dui azuli di argento Uno libro do Sto hieronymo in vulgare in charta di capreto coperto di curamo morello cornuzato ala damaschina dorato cum tri azuli di ottone Uno officio sopra il psalterio di nostra dona in capreto scripto a penna miniato: ligato e coperto di curame stampato ala damaschina cum uno azulo di argento Uno officio di nostra dona vechio in capreto scripto a penna coperto di cendale rosso. la sopracoperta di veluto nigro fodrata di cendale nigro Biblia astampa in bambasina ligata, coperta di curame rosso stampita ala damaschina cum li cantoni di ottone e azuli Legendario delo advento in bambasina astampa ligato cum uno fondelo rosso Uno libro del alboro de la croce scripto a penna, miniato e historiato coperta di braxilio stampato ala damaschina Vita di sancti padri in vulgare a stampa coperta di braxilio lavorato ala damaschina Prediche di frate Roberto a stampa in bambasina coperto di curame rosso Libro di miraculi di nostra dona: in charta di bambaso scripto a penna coperto di braxilio rosso 137R Libro di Sto B[er]nardo dela Conseta’ in charta buona scripto a penna Uno altro libro dela patientia di Sti padri scripto a penna copert di montanina rosa Spechio di la croce in charta buona scripto a penna coperti di montanina rossa Uno libro di vita di sancto hieronymo e altre cose in charta buona scripto a penna coperto di montanina rossa Transito di la morte in bambasina stampito coperto di brasilio stampito Fiorito dela biblia in charta di bambaso scripto a penna che albe di charta coperta di curame biancho Fiorito di Sto Francesco scripti a penna in charta buona coperto de curame biancho Fiorita dela biblia in bambasina scripti a penna Boetio di Consolatione in charta buona scripto a penna in franzese coperto di brasilio stampito Regula di di[r]‌é l’officij scripto a penna in charta buona Commandanti di Christo in francese scripti a penna in m’brana [?membrana] miniati e historiati coperto di braxilio stampito Oratione sopra la passione di Christo in bambasino coperto di curame. zallo stampito Li onori di cesare in bambasina scripti a penna cum albe di ligno fondello

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Libro della guerra di Ferrara scripto a penna in bambasina Libro in francese vechio scripto a penna e strazato Libro composto per me. Barte[lomeo] Gogio di Laudib’ Mulieru[s]‌ Memoria artificiale astampa in bambasina 137V Oratione di nostra dona in uno libreto scripte a penna in charta buona coperta di braxilio stampito Uno confessionale vulgare del beato Antonio arcivescovo di fiorenza a stampa in bambasina cum le albe di legno fondello di curame Fioriti dela bibia historiata in charta di bambasa a stampa cum le albe di ligno e fondelo di curame Uno libreto astampo di laude deLE Re Ferrando [d’Aragona] Tractato di don michele in charta di bambasa scripto a penna Spera materiale in charta buona scripto a penna coperto di brasilio Uno libro in francese in bambasina stampito ligato coperto di curame rosso stampiti Li dodese articoli di la fede in capreto scripti a penna cum albe di charta Uno libreto in versi latini di le laude di madama scripto a penna in capreto Laude di nostra dona in capreto scripte a penna Officio de la Sancta trinita in charta buona scripti a penna Oratione per venia impetranda[?]‌per peccatis scripte a penna in capreto ligate coperto di raso cremesino cum uno azulo di argento dorato

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INTRODUCTION

1 Annette B. Weiner, ‘Reproduction: A Replacement for Reciprocity,’ American Ethnologist 7, no. 1 (1980): 71–​85. 2 ASMO AP 638. For archival abbreviations see ‘Primary Archival Sources’ in the bibliography. 3 All translations my own unless stated otherwise. ‘Bacili duj et bochalj duj grande di arzento lavorada alla venetiana cu[m]‌le arme del Sig[no]re Re [Ferrante Aragona] li q[ua]li dono il p[re]fecto de Roma a Madama pesa luno di bacali on[ze] 58 et luno di bronzinj on[ze] 58   Fino [con]segnati ad Antonio di dare al miss[er] Andrea di Zenaro homo del duca di calabria [Alfonso d’Aragona] adi 7 de zugno 1484—​li q[u]ali inanzi erano stati dati al ditt mis[ser] predro da lino in modena   Nota che li duj bazili (sono in guardaroba como apare al ditto inventario asp 15) et uno d[e]lli bronzinj e i[m]pegno a venestia como apare al libro di recordi di zironimo asp 9   E laltro bronzino e in guardaroba como apare alinventario de ditto zironimo asp 15.’ ASMO AP 638, 7R. 4 ‘Denti di Aliphanti picoli longhi circa dui terzi de brazo...Duj   Nota che la Extia de Madama mando a bologna mezo de uno di ditti denti a miss/​egano di lambertinj che fu dal mezo i[n]‌drete   Item altro mezo de ditto dente Sua Signoria il dono adi 10 zenaro 1488 alli illustri soi filgioli Dono Alphonse et Ma Isabella   Item altro dente e posto et notado allo inventario di ditto gironimo asp 127.’ ASMO AP 638, 101R 5 ‘Vestido uno longo de raso carmesino deffodrato   Nota che del soprascripto vestido ne fu facto fornimenti da cavagli da carretta li qali fornime[n]‌ti mando la Ex[cellen]tia de Ma[da]ma a fiorenza a Lorenzo de Cosmo.’ ASMO AP 638, 31R 6 Translation in Rupert Shepherd, ‘Giovanni Sabadino degli Arienti, Ercole I d’Este and the Decoration of the Italian Renaissance Court,’ Renaissance Studies 9, no. 1 (1995): 51. Also see Giovanni Sabadino degli Arienti, Art and Life at the Court of Ercole I d’Este: The ‘De triumphus religionis’ of Giovanni Sabadino degli Arienti, ed. Werner L.  Gundersheimer (Geneva, 1972), 50; Guido Guerzoni, ‘Liberalitas, Magnificentia, Splendor:  The Classic Origins of Italian Renaissance Lifestyles,’ in Economic Engagements with Art, ed. Neil De Marchi and Craufurd D. W. Goodwin (Durham, NC, and London, 1999), 359. 7 Richard Michael Tristano, ‘Ferrara in the Fifteenth Century:  Borso d’Este and the Development of a New Nobility (Italy)’ (PhD thesis, New York University, 1983), especially ch. 5, 194–​205; Stephen Campbell, ‘Pictura and Scriptura: Cosmè Tura and Style as Courtly Performance,’ Art History 19, no. 2 (1996): 270. 8 Richard Brown, ‘Death of a Renaissance Record-​Keeper:  The Murder of Tomasso da Tortona in Ferrara, 1385,’ Archivaria 44 (1997): 9 and 34–​35 n. 19; Stephen Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara:  Style, Politics and the Renaissance City, 1450–​1495 (New Haven, CT, and London, 1997), 11.

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9 Victor I. Stoichita, The Self-​Aware Image: An Insight into Early Modern Meta-​Painting, trans. Anne-​Marie Glasheen (Cambridge, 1997). 10 Campbell, ‘Pictura.’ 11 The goods listed include ‘doe ancone doro le q[ua]le portare da lione […] sono sante barbara laltra sono vnj xpto [(christo)]’; ‘uno fiasco de olio da spigo’; ‘una ancona davolio dove la nostra done in mezo e ly 12 apostoly’; ‘uno ce lamaro et uno casitina davolio’; ‘uno armelino doro dapertura nel boneto’; ‘duj santj Iacomj daraxintj’; ‘paltrj nostrj 450 dambro di piu e d[i]‌verse sorte’; ‘una scatolla di corr da tegnere zoia.’ ASMO AP 639, 131R-​132R. 12 He is also recorded buying velvet for Anna Sforza, Alfonso d’Este’s wife in 1496, Evelyn S. Welch, Shopping in the Renaissance: Consumer Cultures in Italy, 1400–​1600 (New Haven, CT, and London, 2005), 250, 353 n. 19. 13 For Isabella, see ASMO CPE 1219.9 (November and December 1491); for Beatrice see ASMO CPE 1219.9 (August and November 1491). 14 Gironimo is also written ‘Zironimo’ and ‘Girolamo’ in the documents. There are numerous letters and documents belonging to the family in ASMO Particolari 631, 632, 633, and 634. I thank Guido Guerzoni in an e-​mail communication for the reference to these buste. For the family see Walther Ludwig and Maristella De Panizza Lorch, Zilioli Ferrariensis comediola Michaelida (Munich, 1975). Danilo Aguzzi-​Barbagli, ‘Review. Zilioli Ferrariensis Comediola Michaelida,’ Renaissance Quarterly 30, no. 2 (1977): 217–​19. 15 Lewis Lockwood, Music in Renaissance Ferrara 1400–​1505: The Creation of a Musical Center in the Fifteenth Century (Oxford, 2009), 12. 16 Their house was recorded as being sold to Zoanne Gualengo for 6,000, as noted by a contemporary diarist. Ludwig and De Panizza Lorch, Zilioli Ferrariensis, 35–​36. 17 Martin Heidegger, ‘The Thing,’ in Poetry, Language, Thought (New  York, 1971), 165–​82; Bruno Latour, ‘The Berlin Key or How to Do Words with Things,’ in Matter, Materiality, and Modern Culture, ed. Paul Graves-​Brown (London, 2000), 10–​21; Bruno Latour, ‘Why Has Critique Run Out of Steam? From Matters of Fact to Matters of Concern,’ Critical Inquiry 20 (2004): 225–​48; Bruno Latour, Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-​Network-​ Theory (Oxford and New York, 2005). 18 Francesco Freddolini and Anne Helmreich, ‘Inventories, Catalogues and Art Historiography: Exploring Lists against the Grain,’ Journal of Art Historiography 11 (2014): 1–​ 14; Lia Markey and Jessica Keating, ‘Introduction: Captured Objects: Inventories of Early Modern Collections,’ Journal of the History of Collections 23, no. 2 (2010): 283–​300; Katherine Anne Wilson, ‘The Household Inventory as Urban “Theatre” in Late Medieval Burgundy,’ Social History 40, no. 3 (2015): 335–​59; Giorgio Riello,‘Things Seen and Unseen: The Material Culture of Early Modern Inventories and Their Representation of Domestic Interiors,’ in Early Modern Things: Objects and Their Histories, 1500–​1800, ed. Paula Findlen (Abingdon, UK, and New York, 2013), 125–​50. For new approaches to account books and historical records also see Adam Smyth, Autobiography in Early Modern England (Cambridge, 2010); Alexandra Shepard, Accounting for Oneself: Worth, Status, and the Social Order in Early Modern England (Oxford and New York, 2015);Valentin Groebner, Who Are You? Identification, Deception, and Surveillance in Early Modern Europe, trans. Mark Kyburz and John Peck (New  York and Cambridge, 2007). 19 Mary J. Carruthers, The Craft of Thought: Meditation, Rhetoric, and the Making of Images, 400–​ 1200 (Cambridge, 1998), 11–​12. 20 Rose Marie San Juan, ‘The Court Lady’s Dilemma: Isabella d’Este and Art Collection in the Renaissance,’ Oxford Art Journal, no. 14 (1991): 67–​78.There is a large literature around female patrons, which is too long to list here but a few key texts include Evelyn S. Welch, ‘Women as Patrons and Clients in the Courts of Quattrocento Italy,’ in Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society, ed. Letizia Panizza (Oxford, 2000); Catherine King, Renaissance Women Patrons:  Wives and Widows in Italy c.  1300–​1500 (Manchester, UK, and New  York, 1998); Sheryl E. Reiss and David G. Wilkins, eds., Beyond Isabella: Secular Women Patrons of Art in Renaissance Italy (Kirksville, MO, 2001).

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21 Webb Keane, ‘Signs Are Not the Garb of Meaning:  On the Social Analysis of Material Things,’ in Materiality, ed. Daniel Miller (Durham, NC, and London, 2005), 188. 22 Arjun Appadurai, ed. The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective (Cambridge, 1986); Igor Kopytoff, ‘The Cultural Biography of Things: Commoditization as Process,’ in The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, ed. Arjun Appadurai (Cambridge, 1986), 64–​91; Bruno Latour, ‘From Realpolitik to Dingpolitik: Or How to Make Things Public,’ in Making Things Public: Atmospheres of Democracy, ed. Bruno Latour and Peter Weibel (Cambridge and Karlsruhe, Germany, 2005):  14–​41; Bill Brown, ‘Thing Theory,’ Critical Inquiry 28, no. 1 (2001): 1–​22; Heidegger, ‘The Thing,’ 165–​82. 23 Meredith Martin and Daniela Bleichmar, ‘Objects in Motion in the Early Modern World,’ Art History 38, no. 4 (2015); Paula Findlen, ed. Early Modern Things: Objects and Their Histories, 1500–​1800 (Abingdon, UK, and New York, 2013); Roberta J. M. Olson, Patricia L. Reilly, and Rupert Shepherd, eds., The Biography of the Object in Late Medieval and Renaissance Italy (Oxford, 2006); Lieselotte E. Saurma-​Jeltsch and Anja Eisenbess, eds., The Power of Things and the Flow of Cultural Transformations:  Art and Culture between Europe and Asia (Berlin, 2010); Renata Ago, Gusto for Things: A History of Objects in Seventeenth-​Century Rome, trans. Bradford Bouley, Corey Tazzara, and Paula Findlen (Chicago and London, 2013); Pamela H.  Smith and Benjamin Schmidt, ‘Introduction:  Knowledge and Its Making in Early Modern Europe,’ in Making Knowledge in Early Modern Europe:  Practices, Objects and Texts, 1400–​1800, ed. Pamela H.  Smith and Benjamin Schmidt (Chicago, 2007), 1–​16; Margreta de Grazia, Maureen Quilligan, and Peter Stallybrass, ‘Introduction,’ in Subject and Object in Renaissance Culture, ed. Margreta de Grazia, Maureen Quilligan, and Peter Stallybrass, Cambridge Studies in Renaissance Literature and Culture (Cambridge, 1996), 1–​13; Lorraine Daston, ‘Introduction: Speechless,’ in Things That Talk: Object Lessons from Art and Science, ed. Lorraine Daston (New York, 2004), 9–​24. 24 Andreas Reckwitz, ‘The Status of the “Material” in Theories of Culture:  From “Social Structure” to “Artefacts”,’ Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour 32, no. 2 (2002): 202. Also see Andreas Reckwitz, ‘Affective Spaces: A Praxeological Outlook,’ Rethinking History 16, no. 2 (2012): 241–​58; Christy Anderson, Anne Dunlop, and Pamela H. Smith, The Matter of Art: Materials, Practices, Cultural Logics, c. 1250–​1750 (Manchester, UK, 2015). 25 Michael Baxandall, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth Century Italy: A Primer in the Social History of Pictorial Style (Oxford and New York, 1988). 26 Latour, ‘Berlin Key,’ 19. Also see Latour, ‘Matters of Fact,’ 225–​48; Latour, ‘From Realpolitik,’ 14–​41; Latour, Reassembling the Social; Graham Harman, Prince of Networks: Bruno Latour and Metaphysics (Prahran and Melbourne, Australia, 2009). 27 Jane Bennett, Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things (Durham, NC, 2010), especially xvi, also see ch. 1. 28 Latour, Reassembling the Social. For assemblages see Bennett, Vibrant Matter:  A Political Ecology of Things, ch. 2. For a synopsis of the debates see Reckwitz, ‘Status of the Material,’ esp. 208–​10. 29 Annette B.  Weiner, Inalienable Possessions:  The Paradox of Keeping-​While-​Giving (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford, 1992); Jerry W.  Leach and Edmund Ronald Leach, eds., The Kula:  New Perspectives on Massim Exchange (Cambridge, 1983); Arjun Appadurai, ‘Introduction: Commodities and the Politics ofValue,’ in The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, ed. Arjun Appadurai (Cambridge, 1986), 16–​20; Nicholas P. G.Thomas, Entangled Objects: Exchange, Material Culture and Colonialism in the Pacific (Cambridge and London, 1991); Bronislaw Malinowski, Argonauts of the Western Pacific: An Account of Native Enterprise and Adventure in the Archipelagoes of Melanesian New Guinea (Prospect Heights, IL, 1984). 30 Chris Gosden and Yvonne Marshall, ‘The Cultural Biography of Objects,’ World Archaeology 31, no. 2 (1999): 170. 31 Andrew Cole, ‘The Call of Things: A Critique of Object-​Oriented Ontologies,’ Minnesota Review 80 (2013): 106–​18. Also see the critiques discussed in the roundtable, Barry Flood

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et al., ‘Roundtable: The Global before Globalization,’ October 133 (2010): 3–​19. For critiques of Latour specifically, see David Bloor, ‘Anti-​Latour,’ Studies in History and Philosophy of Science Part A 30, no. 1 (1999): 81–​112; Bruno Latour, ‘Discussion: For David Bloor … and Beyond: A Reply to David Bloor’s ‘Anti-​Latour,’’ Studies in History and Philosophy of Science Part A 30, no. 1 (1999): 113–​29. For the relationship to language, see Daston, ‘Speechless.’ In relation to early modern sacred objects see the special issue edited by Shannon Gayk and Robyn Malo, ‘The Sacred Object,’ Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 44, no. 3 (2014). 32 For the uneasy relationship between the self and possessions see Stephen Campbell, The Cabinet of Eros:  Renaissance Mythological Painting and the Studiolo of Isabella d’Este (New Haven, CT, and London, 2006), 40–​41. 33 Richard A. Goldthwaite, ‘The Empire of Things: Consumer Demand in Renaissance Italy,’ in Patronage, Art, and Society in Renaissance Italy, ed. F. W. Kent and Patricia Simons (Oxford, 1987); Richard A. Goldthwaite, Wealth and the Demand for Art in Italy 1300–​1600 (Baltimore and London, 1993); Lisa Jardine, Worldly Goods: A New History of the Renaissance (London, 1996). For an expanded bibliography see Chapter 2. 34 Reckwitz, ‘Status of the Material,’ in particular, 208–​9. 35 The literature on the courts is large and varied. Traditional structuralist approaches to the court have located power in the body of the prince, leading to the rise of the absolutist state, most famously exemplified in the work of Norbert Elias and the subsequent publications influenced by his work: Norbert Elias, The Court Society, trans. Edmund Jephcott (Oxford, 1983); Lauro Martines, Power and Imagination:  City-​States in Renaissance Italy (New  York, 1979); J. H. Shennan, The Origins of the Modern European State: 1450–​1725 (London, 1974); Sergio Bertelli, The King’s Body: Sacred Rituals of Power in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, trans. R. Burr Litchfield (University Park, PA, 2001); Sergio Bertelli, Franco Cardini, and Elvira Garbero Zorzi, eds., The Courts of the Italian Renaissance (New York and Oxford, 1986). 36 More recent scholarship has stressed the open nature of court society, emphasising the need to consider local factions and urban society. See Ronald G.  Asch, ‘Introduction:  Court and Household from the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Centuries,’ in Princes, Patronage and the Nobility: The Court at the Beginning of the Modern Age c. 1450–​1650, ed. Ronald G. Asch and Adolf M. Birke (London and Oxford, 1991), 1–​38; Giorgio Chittolini, ‘The “Private”, the “Public”, the State,’ Journal of Modern History 67, no. supplement issue: The Origins of the State in Italy, 1300–​1600 (1995):  S34–​S61; Giorgio Chittolini, Anthony Molho, and Pierangelo Schiera, eds., Origini dello Stato: Processi di formazione statale in Italia fra medioevo ed età moderna, Vol. 39, Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-​germanico (Bologna, 1994); Trevor Dean, ‘The Courts,’ in The Origins of the State in Italy 1300–​1600, ed. Julius Kirshner (Chicago and London, 1995), 136–​51; Isabella Lazzarini, Fra un principe e altri stati. Relazioni di potere e forme di servizio a Mantova nell’età di Ludovico Gonzaga (Rome, 1996); Isabella Lazzarini, ‘Sub signo principis: Political Institutions and Urban Configurations in Early Renaissance Mantua,’ Renaissance Studies 16, no. 3 (2002): 318–​29; Dorothea Nolde, Elena Svalduz, and María José del Río Barredo, ‘City Courts as Places of Cultural Transfer,’ in Cultural Exchange in Early Modern Europe, ed. Donatella Calabi and Stephen Turk Christensen (Cambridge, 2007), 254–​85. 37 The Neapolitan network (based at York) and its related publications have been especially beneficial in this regard, see Melissa Calaresu and Helen Hills, New Approaches to Naples c.  1500–​c. 1800:  The Power of Place (Farnham, MA, and Burlington, VT, 2013). The recently founded Center for the Art and Architectural History of Port Cities (Centro per la Storia dell’Arte e Architettura delle Città Portuali) at La Capraia in Naples will also prove important for Neapolitan studies: http://​www.utdallas.edu/​arthistory/​port-​cities/​. Also see Tommaso Astarita, A Companion to Early Modern Naples (Leiden, The Netherlands, 2013); Cordelia Warr and Janis Elliott, ‘Introduction: Reassessing Naples 1266–​1713,’ Art History 31, no. 4 (2008): 423–​37; Davide Canfora, ‘Culture and Power in Naples from 1450 to 1650,’ in Princes and Princely Culture (c. 1450–​1650), ed. Martin Gosman, Alasdair Vanderjagt, and

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Arjo MacDonald (Leiden, The Netherlands, and Boston, 2003); Marcia B. Hall and Thomas Willette, Naples, Artistic Centers of the Italian Renaissance (New York, 2017); Bianca de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza nella Napoli del Quattrocento (Venice, 2007). Gerardo de Simone, Adrian Bremenkamp, and Sarah Kozlowski, eds., special issue of Predella dedicated to new approaches to fifteenth-​century Naples, forthcoming 2018. For the political and social history of Neapolitan humanists, Jerry H.  Bentley, Politics and Culture in Renaissance Naples (Princeton, NJ, 1987); Matteo Soranzo, Poetry and Identity in Quattrocento Naples (Burlington, VT, 2014). Naples’s role in diplomatic history has also been the subject of recent studies, Paul M. Dover, ‘Royal Diplomacy in Renaissance Italy: Ferrante d’Aragona (1458–​1494) and His Ambassadors,’ Mediterranean Studies 14 (2005): 57–​94; Vincent Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia d’Italia: Ferrante and Galeazzo Maria Sforza, Friendly Enemies and Hostile Allies,’ in The French Descent into Renaissance Italy 1494–​95: Antecedents and Effects, ed. David Abulafia (Aldershot, UK, 1995), 91–​122; David Abulafia, ed., The French Descent into Renaissance Italy 1494–​95: Antecedents and Effects (Aldershot, UK, 1995); Francesco Senatore, ‘The Kingdom of Naples,’ in The Italian Renaissance State, ed. Andrea Gamberini and Isabella Lazzarini (Cambridge, 2012). For Genoese merchants in Naples see Céline Dauverd, Imperial Ambition in the Early Modern Mediterranean: Genoese Merchants and the Spanish Crown (Cambridge, 2015). 38 Riccardo Fubini, ‘The Italian League and the Policy of the Balance of Power at the Accession of Lorenzo de’ Medici,’ The Journal of Modern History 67 suppl. (1995): S166–​S199. For Ferrante’s key role, see Dover, ‘Royal Diplomacy.’ 39 John A. Marino, ‘Myths of Modernity and the Myth of the City: When the Historiography of Pre-​modern Italy goes South,’ in New Approaches to Naples c. 1500–​c. 1800: The Power of Place, ed. Melissa Calaresu and Helen Hills (Farnham, MA, and Burlington,VT, 2013), 11–​30. 40 For the complicated political history, see Bentley, Politics and Culture, 7–​21; David Abulafia, ‘Introduction: From Ferrante I to Charles VIII,’ in The French Descent into Renaissance Italy 1494–​95:  Antecedents and Effects, ed. David Abulafia (Aldershot, UK, 1995), 1–​25; Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia,’ 91–​122; Dover, ‘Royal Diplomacy,’ 57–​94. 41 Abulafia, ‘Introduction,’ 4. 42 Eleni Sakellariou, ‘Institutional and Social Continuities in the Kingdom of Naples Between 1443 and 1528,’ in The French Descent into Renaissance Italy 1494–​95: Antecedents and Effects, ed. David Abulafia (Aldershot, UK, 1995). 43 Sakellariou, ‘Institutional and Social Continuities,’ 339–​40. Also see Abulafia, ‘Introduction,’ 8–​11. 44 Jacob Burckhardt, The Civilization of the Renaissance (London and New York, 1944), 9–​13, 29. 45 Cecil H. Clough, ‘Federico da Montefeltro and the Kings of Naples: A Study in Fifteenth-​ Century Survival,’ Renaissance Studies 6, no. 2 (1992): 118 and 146. 46 Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia.’ 47 Lorenzo de’ Medici, Lettere, ed. R. Fubini, Vol. 1 (Florence, 1977), 236; Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia,’ 104. 48 Werner Gundersheimer, Ferrara: The Style of a Renaissance Despotism (Princeton, NJ, 1973), 176–​77; Thomas Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara: Ercole d’Este, 1471–​1505, and the Invention of a Ducal Capital (Cambridge, 1996), 9–​11. 1 CARAFA’S TESTA DI CAVALLO

1 Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Italian Journey, 1786–​1788, trans. W. H. Auden and Elizabeth Mayer (London, 1962), 186. 2 The 1688, 1692, and 1697 editions of the engraving are identical, printed by Bulifon. In the 1713 edition the image appears on an earlier page and is slightly altered, published by Muzio. Pompeo Sarnelli, Guida dei forestieri, BL: 171.a.11 (Antonio Bulifon: Naples, 1692); Pompeo Sarnelli, Guida dei forestieri, BL: 574.a.20.(1.) (Michele-​Luigi Muzio: Naples, 1713). 3 Daston, ‘Speechless,’ 9–​24. 4 Latour, ‘Matters of Fact,’ 225–​48.

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5 Brown, ‘Thing Theory,’ 1–​22. 6 Ibid., 11. 7 Marcel Mauss, The Gift:  Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. Ian Cunnison (New York, 1967), 1. 8 Garrett Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy (London, 1963). 9 John Watkins, ‘Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,’ Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38, no.  1 (2008):  1–​14; Isabella Lazzarini, ‘Renaissance Diplomacy,’ in The Italian Renaissance State, ed. Andrea Gamberini and Isabella Lazzarini (Cambridge, 2012); Catherine Fletcher and Jennifer Mara DeSilva, ‘Italian Ambassadorial Networks in Early Modern Europe:  An Introduction,’ Journal of Early Modern History 14, no.  6 (2010):  505–​12; Daniela Frigo, ed. Politics and Diplomacy in Early Modern Italy: The Structure of Diplomatic Practice, 1450–​1800 (Cambridge and New  York, 2000). For an overview of the recent debates in diplomatic history see Paul M.  Dover, ‘Diplomacy and Early Modern Culture,’ Renaissance Quarterly 64, no.  4 (2011):  1279–​81; Diana Carrió-​Invernizzi, ‘A New Diplomatic History and the Networks of Spanish Diplomacy in the Baroque Era,’ The International History Review 36, no.  4 (2014):  603–​18. The art historical literature is growing rapidly, see Elizabeth Cropper, ed., The Diplomacy of Art:  Artistic Creation and Politics in Seicento Italy (Milan, 2000); Cecily J.  Hilsdale, Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline (New  York, 2014); Brigitte Buettner, ‘Past Presents: New Year’s Gifts at the Valois Courts, ca. 1400,’ Art Bulletin 83, no. 4 (2001): 598–​625; Nancy Um and Leah R. Clark, Special Issue: The Art of Embassy: Situating Objects and Images in the Early Modern Diplomatic Encounter, Journal of Early Modern History 20, no. 1 (2016); Anthony Cutler, ‘Significant Gifts: Patterns of Exchange in Late Antique, Byzantine, and Early Islamic Diplomacy,’ Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38, no.  1 (2008):  79–​101; Doris Behrens-​Abouseif, Practising Diplomacy in the Mamluk Sultanate: Gifts and Material Culture in the Medieval Islamic World (London and New York, 2014). 10 Anthony Colantuono,‘The Mute Diplomat: Theorizing the Role of Images in Seventeenth-​ Century Political Negotiations,’ in The Diplomacy of Art:  Artistic Creation and Politics in Seicento Italy (Milan, 2000), 54. 11 For the usefulness of ANT in relation to gifting, see Michael Zell, ‘Rembrandt’s Gifts: A Case Study of Actor-​Network-​Theory,’ Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art 3, no.  2 (2011): 1–​12. 12 The literature is large and expanding, but some key texts include Anthony Cutler, ‘Gifts and Gift Exchange as Aspects of the Byzantine, Arab, and Related Economies,’ Dumbarton Oaks Papers 55 (2001):  247–​78; Cutler, ‘Significant Gifts,’ 79–​101; Valentin Groebner, Liquid Assets, Dangerous Gifts:  Presents and Politics at the End of the Middle Ages, trans. Pamela E. Selwyn (Philadelphia, 2000); Felicity Heal, The Power of Gifts: Gift Exchange in Early Modern England (Oxford, 2014); Natalie Zemon Davis, The Gift in Sixteenth-​ Century France (Madison, WI, 2000); Gadi Algazi, Valentin Groebner, and Bernhard Jussen, eds., Negotiating the Gift: Pre-​Modern Figurations of Exchange (Göttingen, Germany, 2003); Maija Jansson, ‘Measured Reciprocity: English Ambassadorial Gift Exchange in the 17th and 18th Centuries,’ Journal of Early Modern History 9, no.  3 (2015):  348–​70; Christian Windler, ‘Tributes and Presents in Franco-​Tunisian Diplomacy,’ Journal of Early Modern History 4, no. 2 (2000): 168–​99. In regard to gifting practices and diplomacy in early modern Naples, for a later period see Carrió-​Invernizzi, ‘Networks of Spanish Diplomacy,’ 603–​18. 13 Francesco Petrarca, Letters on Familiar Matters:  Rerum familiarium libri XVII–​XXIV, trans. Aldo S. Bernardo (Baltimore and London, 1985), 329, Letter 7. Also see Letters 3 and 4; Paula Findlen, ‘Possessing the Past:  The Material World of the Italian Renaissance,’ The American Historical Review 103, no.  1 (1998):  107. On fragments in the Renaissance, see Leonard Barkan, Unearthing the Past: Archaeology and Aesthetics in the Making of Renaissance Culture (New Haven, CT, and London, 1999), ch. 3.

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14 William Tronzo, ed. The Fragment: An Incomplete History (Los Angeles, 2009), 4; Jacqueline Lichtenstein, ‘The Fragment:  Elements of a Definition,’ in The Fragment:  An Incomplete History, ed. William Tronzo (Los Angeles, 2009), 120. 15 For early modern publics see Bronwen Wilson and Paul Yachnin, eds., Making Publics in Early Modern Europe: People,Things, Forms of Knowledge (New York, 2009); Angela Vanhaelen and Joseph Ward, eds., Making Space Public in Early Modern Europe: Geography, Performance, Privacy (New York, 2013). 16 ‘ho recevuto la testa del cavallo la Signoria Vostra s’è dignata mandareme, de che ne resto tanto contento quanto de cosa havesse desiderato et re[n]‌gracione Vostra Signoria infinite volte sì per essere stato dono digno como per haverlo da la Signoria Vostra. Avisandola ll’ò ben locato in la mia casa, che se vede da omne [sic] canto, certificadove che non solo de Vostra Signoria ad me ne starà memoria ma ad mei fillioli, i quali di continuo haveranno la Signoria Vostra in observanciai et serannoli obligati, extimando l’amore quella ha mostrato in voolere [sic  =  volere] comparere con tale dono et ornamento alla dicta casa…’ The letter is dated 12 July 1471, from Diomede Carafa to Lorenzo de’ Medici. ASF MAP 27, 386. Transcription from Laurie Fusco and Gino Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici:  Collector and Antiquarian (Cambridge, 2006), 283, Doc. 10. 17 Only the side panels survive and are now in the Cleveland Museum of Art, see Caroline Elam, ‘Art and Diplomacy in Renaissance Florence,’ RSA Journal 136, no. 5387 (1988): 815. For the documents see Baxandall, Painting and Experience, 155–​56; Giovanni Gaye, Carteggio inedito d’artisti dei secoli XIV, XV, XVI, Vol. I (Florence, 1840), 175–​81. In 1465 Ferrante sent foodstuff to Florentine ambassadors, ASMI SPE 214, 19 April 1465. 18 Elam, ‘Art and Diplomacy,’ 819–​20. 19 Bianca de Divitiis, ‘Giuliano da Sangallo in the Kingdom of Naples:  Architecture and Cultural Exchange,’ Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 74 (2015): 157. 20 Erasmo Percopo, ‘Nuovi documenti su gli scrittori e gli artisti dei tempi aragonesi,’ Archivio storico per le province napoletane XX (1895): 314. 21 Giorgio Vasari, The Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, trans. Jonathan Foster,Vol. II (London, 1868), 491–​92. 22 de Divitiis, ‘Giuliano da Sangallo,’ 157. 23 Lorenz Böninger, ‘Politics, Trade and Toleration in Renaissance Florence:  Lorenzo de’ Medici and the Besalú Brothers,’ I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance 9 (2001): 147. 24 de Divitiis, ‘Giuliano da Sangallo,’ 152–​78; Linda Pellecchia, ‘From Aesop’s Fables to the Kalila Wa-​dimna: Giuliano da Sangallo’s Staircase in the Gondi Palace in Florence,’ I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance 14/​15 (2011/​2012): 137–​207. 25 The next chapter explores the taste for lettucci in depth. For primary sources see, ASF Carteggio Strozziane (CS) V-​17, 77R, 85V, 86R. For the scrittoio, ASF CS V, 17, 149v. Eve Borsook,‘A Florentine Scrittoio for Diomede Carafa,’ in Art, the Ape of Nature: Studies in Honor of H. W. Janson, ed. Mosche Barash and Lucy Freeman Sandler (New York, 1981): 91–​96. 26 For the list of gifts see ASF, CS V.22 95R and the extended discussion in the next chapter for relevant bibliography. 27 Bianca de Divitiis, ‘Building in Local All’antica Style: The Palace of Diomede Carafa in Naples,’ Art History 31, no. 4 (2008): 515. 28 The most comprehensive biographies on Diomede are still Persico’s nineteenth-​century study and Moore’s 1967 thesis: Tommaso Persico, Diomede Carafa: Uomo di stato e scrittore del secolo XV (Naples, 1899); John D.  Moores, ‘Diomede Carafa and His Unpublished Correspondence’ (PhD thesis, University College London [University of London], 1967). More recent studies include de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza; Bianca de Divitiis, ‘New Evidence on Diomede Carafa’s Collection of Antiquities,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 70 (2007); de Divitiis, ‘Building All’Antica’; Bianca de Divitiis, ‘New Evidence on Diomede Carafa’s Collection of Antiquities II,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 73 (2010): 99–​117; Italo M. Iasiello, Il collezionismo di antichità nella Napoli dei Viceré (Naples, 2003), 110–​18. Other useful biographical information can be found

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in Franca Petrucci Nardelli, ed. Memoriali di Diomede Carafa (Roma, 1988); Gioacchino Paparelli, Diomede Carafa: Dello Optimo Cortesano (Salerno, 1971); Franca Petrucci Nardelli, ‘Carafa, Diomede,’ in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, ed. Alberto Maria Ghisalberti (Rome, 1976):  523–​30. For English publications see John D.  Moores, ‘New Light on Diomede Carafa and His ‘Perfect Loyalty’ to Ferrante of Aragon,’ Italian Studies 26 (1971):  1–​23; Bentley, Politics and Culture, 141–​46. Reumont’s text of the Carafa family is often riddled with mistakes as he relies essentially on sixteenth-​century sources, Alfred de Reumont, The Carafas of Maddaloni: Naples under Spanish Dominion (London, 1854). For his palace, in addition to de Divitiis, see Georgia Clarke, Roman House-​Renaissance Palaces, Inventing Antiquity in Fifteenth-​Century Italy (Cambridge, 2003), 36–​38; Gaetano Filangieri, ‘La testa di cavallo di bronzo già di casa Maddaloni in via Sedile di Nido,’ Archivio storico per le province napoletane 7 (1882): 407–​20; Giuseppe Ceci, ‘Il Palazzo Carafa di Maddaloni, poi di Colubrano,’ Napoli Nobilissima 2, no.  9 (1893):  149–​52; 168–​70. The first history of the Carafa family was published by Biagio Aldimari, Historia genealogica della famiglia Carafa, BL: 644 F 16 (Antonio Bulifon: Naples, 1691). 29 Petrucci Nardelli, ‘Carafa, Diomede,’ 525; Persico, Carafa, 66–​74. 30 Letter of 10 February 1459, ASMI SPE 200, 92. Also see Petrucci Nardelli, ‘Carafa, Diomede,’ 525. 31 Moores, ‘New Light on Diomede,’ 9. 32 Paparelli, Diomede Carafa, 17–​18.The expenses for the office move were paid for on 5 March 1466, Nicola Barone, ‘Le Cedole di Tesoreria dell’Archivio di Stato di Napoli dal 1460 al 1504,’ Archivio storico per le province napoletane 9 (1884): 207. The Venetian ambassador often discusses visiting Diomede in his palace, Gigi Corazzol, ed. Dispacci di Zaccaria Barbaro (1 novembre 1471–​7 settembre 1473), Corrispondenze diplomatiche veneziane da Napoli (Rome, 1994), 130, Letter 60, from 7 January 1472 and 225, letter 104, 31 March 1472. The Milanese ambassador also reported a visit of the Venetian ambassador to Diomede’s garden on 8 April 1475, see ASMI SPE 227. 33 Persico, Carafa, 120, 135. Moores, ‘Diomede Carafa.’ 34 ‘Costui fì reputado el secundo re et però io lo honoro…’ Corazzol, Barbaro Dispacci, 225, letter 104, 31 March 1472. 35 Paparelli, Diomede Carafa, 15. 36 Francesco Maleta to the Duke of Milan from 24 April 1472, ASMI SPE 221. See also Moores, ‘Diomede Carafa,’ 152–​53. 37 Corazzol, Barbaro Dispacci, 212, Letter 101 from 28 March 1472. 38 ASMI SPE 224, 238. Letter from Francesco Maleta to the Duke of Milan, from 22 May 1473. 39 Francesco Maleta to the Duke of Milan, ASMI SPE 223, 228, 31 December 1472. 40 ‘…se anchora paresse ad quella mandarne uno al Conte de Matalone: ad me pareria senon bem facto: ch[e]‌havendo v[ostra] subl[imi]ta dicto conte e lo Duca p[er] v[ost]ri vuy haveti el cuore del Re i[n] mano.’ ASMI SPE 223, 228. 41 For Ippolita Sforza and her controversial role at the Neapolitan court, see Evelyn S. Welch, ‘Between Milan and Naples:  Ippolita Maria Sforza, Duchess of Calabria,’ in The French Descent into Renaissance Italy 1494–​95: Antecedents and Effects, ed. David Abulafia (Aldershot, UK, 1995), 123–​36; Veronica Mele, ‘Meccanismi di patronage e strategie familiari alla corte di Ippolita Maria Sforza, duchessa di Calabria (1465–​69),’ in Poteri, relazioni, guerra nel regno di Ferrante D’Aragona:  Studi sulle corrispondenze diplomatiche, ed. Francesco Senatore and Francesco Storti (Naples, 2011). 42 For gifts between Eleonora and Diomede see ASMO CPE 1284/​4, letters of 17 and 22 November, 26 May, 8 July, and 10 February. Written in Diomede’s own hand, none of these letters are given a year. Also see Moores, ‘Diomede Carafa,’ ch. 5. The gift from the Venetian ambassador is reported in a postscript dated 28 March 1471, ASMI SPE 220, 205. 43 Judith Hook, Lorenzo de’ Medici: An Historical Biography (London, 1984), 20–​21; Licia Vlad Borrelli, ‘Un dono di Lorenzo de’ Medici a Diomede Carafa,’ in La Toscana al tempo di

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Lorenzo il Magnifico: politica, economia, cultura, arte: convegno di studi promosso dalle Università di Firenze, Pisa e Siena: 5–​8 novembre 1992, ed. Luigi Beschi (Pisa, Italy, 1996), 239. 44 Moores, ‘New Light on Diomede,’ 11; Francesco Novati, ‘I manoscritti italiani d’alcune biblioteche del Belgio e dell’Olanda,’ Rassegna bibliografica della letteratura italiana 2 (1894): 199–​208. 45 Moores, ‘New Light on Diomede,’ 12. Borrelli calls it a ‘grande amicizia’:  Borrelli, ‘Un dono,’ 239. 46 Marika Keblusek and Badeloch Noldus, eds., Double Agents: Cultural and Political Brokerage in Early Modern Europe (Leiden, The Netherlands, and Boston, 2011). 47 Daniela Frigo, ‘Prudence and Experience:  Ambassadors and Political Culture in Early Modern Italy,’ Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 38, no. 1 (2008): 21–​22. 48 For the political outline that follows, I have largely relied on Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia,’ 91–​122. 49 Ibid., 93–​94. 50 Quoted in Fubini, ‘Italian League,’ S182. 51 Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia,’ 98; Medici, Lettere 1, 1, 175–​76 and 206–​7. 52 Medici, Lettere 1, 1, 236; Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia,’ 104. 53 Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia,’ 110. 15 October 1471, ASMI SPE 220. 54 ‘duy fiaschi dargento e una confetera grande e bella.’ ASMI SPE 220, Postscript dated 28 March 1471. 55 Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia,’ 114. For the quarrel over the singers see Paul Merkley and Lora Merkley, Music and Patronage in the Sforza court (Turnhout, Belgium, 1999), 41–​57. 56 Humphrey Butters, ‘Lorenzo and Naples,’ in Lorenzo il Magnifico e il suo mondo:  convegno internazionale di studi (Firenze, 9–​ 13 giugno 1992), ed. Gian Carlo Garfagnini (Florence, 1994), 145. 57 Butters, ‘Lorenzo and Naples,’ 145–​50. 58 Raymond de Roover, The Rise and Decline of the Medici Bank: 1397–​1494 (New York, 1966), 254–​61; Hook, Lorenzo, 30. 59 de Roover, Medici Bank, 152–​66. 60 Ibid., 156 n. 3. 61 Novati, ‘Manoscritti,’ 206. 62 ‘Il conte di Matalona gran festa fa del cavallo. È tuo amico. Conservalo, che assai te ne dirò di costà.’ Quoted in Moores, ‘Diomede Carafa,’ 96. Also see Salvatore Bongi, ed., Lettere di Luigi Pulci a Lorenzo il Magnifico e ad altri (Lucca, Italy, 1886), 104. 63 Quoted in Butters, ‘Lorenzo and Naples,’ 146. 64 Borsook, ‘Florentine Scrittoio,’ 93. Also see, Luigi Beschi, ‘Le sculture antiche di Lorenzo il Magnifico,’ in Lorenzo il Magnifico e il suo mondo: convegno internazionale di studi (Firenze, 9–​13 giugno 1992), ed. Gian Carlo Garfagnini (Florence, 1994), 294–​95. 65 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 6–​9. 66 Quoted from Lorenzo’s Ricordi, in Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 6 and 337, Doc. 204. 67 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 9. 68 Corazzol, Barbaro Dispacci, 225, letter 104 from 31 March 1472. 69 Ibid. 70 ‘Costui fì reputado el secundo re et però io lo honoro et acchareço in modo luy vuol,’ ibid. 71 Ibid., 381, Letter 181, from 4 to 5 October 1472. 72 Ibid., 399, Letter 188, 17 October 1472. 73 Melissa Meriam Bullard, ‘Lorenzo de’ Medici: Anxiety, Image Making, and Political Reality in the Renaissance,’ in Lorenzo de’ Medici:  Studi, ed. Gian Carlo Garfagnini (Florence, 1992), 9–​12. 74 Giuliana Vitale, ‘Modelli culturali nobiliari a Napoli tra Quattro e Cinquecento,’ Archivio Storico per le Province Napoletane 105 (1987): 89. 75 ASF CS III. 247, 266R.

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76 Kopytoff, ‘Cultural Biography of Things,’ 64–​91; de Grazia, Quilligan, and Stallybrass, ‘Introduction,’ 1–​13. 77 Biagio Aldimari, Memorie historiche di diverse famiglie nobili, così napoletane, come forastiere, BNN. B. BRANC 42.F.3 (Giacomo Rallard: Naples, 1691), 623. 78 Beatrice K.  Otto, Fools Are Everywhere:  The Court Jester around the World (Chicago and London, 2001), 72. Also see Alessandro Luzio and Rodolfo Renier, ‘Buffoni, nani e achiavi dei Gonzaga ai tempi d’Isabella d’Este,’ Nuova Antologia di scienze, lettere ed arti 3, nos. 34 and 35 (1891): 618–​50 and 112–​46. 79 Tomaso Garzoni quoted and translated in Evelyn S.  Welch, ‘Painting as Performance in the Italian Renaissance Court,’ in Artists at Court: Image-​Making and Identity, 1300–​1500, ed. Stephen Campbell (Boston and Chicago, 2004), 27. Also see Luzio and Renier, ‘Buffoni dei Gonzaga,’ 620. 80 Christiane L.  Joost-​Gaugier, ‘Lorenzo the Magnificent and the Giraffe as a Symbol of Power,’ Artibus et Historiae 8, no. 16 (1987): 91–​99; Behrens-​Abouseif, Practising Diplomacy, 113–​14. 81 Filangieri, ‘Testa di cavallo,’ 407–​20. 82 Reumont, The Carafas, 120; George L.  Hersey, ‘The Arch of Alfonso in Naples and Its Pisanellesque “Design”,’ Master Drawings 7, no. 2 (1969): 19. 83 Filangieri, ‘Testa di cavallo,’ 408–​9. 84 Francesco Caglioti, ‘Horse’s Head (Naples, Museo Archeologica Nazionale),’ in In the Light of Apollo: Italian Renaissance and Greece. Exh. cat. Athens and Milan 2004, ed. Mina Gregori (Athens and Milan, 2003), 198–​200. 85 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 283, Doc. 10; Filangieri, ‘Testa di cavallo,’ 416. 86 Hersey, ‘Arch of Alfonso,’ 22. 87 Filangieri, ‘Testa di cavallo,’ 407; Giovanni Villano, Croniche de la Inclita Cità de Napole emendatissime, con li Bagni di Puzzolo, & Ischia nouamente ristampate, con la Tauola cum Priuilegio (Regia Stampa di Castaldo: Naples, 1680). 88 Villano, Croniche, 13 (ch. 20). 89 Pandolfo Collenuccio, Historiae Neapolitanae BNN:  RACC.VILL.A.65 (Basil:  Apud Petrum Pernam, 1572), 161–​62, Libro IIII.; Pietro di Stefano, Descrittione de i luoghi sacri della citta di Napoli, con li fondatori di essi, reliquie, sepolture, et epitaphii scelti che in quelle si ritrovano, BL: 206.a.22/​663.e.21 (Naples: Raymondo Amato, 1560), 15. 90 Filangieri, ‘Testa di cavallo,’ 408–​9. Also see Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 347 Doc. 226. 91 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 347 Doc. 226. 92 Giovanni Antonio Summonte, Dell’Historia della città, e regno di Napoli. Tomo Secondo nel quale si descriveno i gesti di suoi Re Normandi, Tedeschi, Francesci, e Durazzeschi, dall’anno 1127 infino al 1442. Seconda editione, BNN: B.BRANC. 117 K (28) (Naples: Antonio Bulifon and Novello de Bonis, 1675), 116. Neither Gian Battista Carafa, a distant relation of Diomede Carafa or Mazzella in their history of the horse mention any connection to Carafa, Gian Batista Carrafa, Dell’historie del regno di Napoli BNN B. BRANC. 35.C.9 (Naples: Giuseppe Cachij, 1572), 93–​94 (Libro Quarto); Scipione Mazzella, Le vite dei re di Napoli BNN. SEZ NAP II.C.74 (Naples: Gioseppe Bonfadino, 1594), 60–​61. 93 Filangieri, ‘Testa di cavallo,’ 410; Iasiello, Collezionismo di antichità, 113. 94 Giulio Cesare Capaccio, Il forastiero, BNN B. Branc 35.c.26 (Gio. Domenico Roncagliolo and Felix Tamburellus Vicarius General: Naples, 1634), 173–​74. 95 Ibid., 854. 96 Filangieri, ‘Testa di cavallo,’ 411–​12. 97 Pompeo Sarnelli, Guida dei forestieri, BNN: RAC.NOT B1076 (Antonio Bulifon: Naples, 1685), 53. 98 Ibid., 53 and 72–​73. 99 Richard A.  Goldthwaite, Banks, Palaces and Entrepreneurs in Renaissance Florence (London, 1995); Brenda Preyer, ‘Florentine Palaces and Memories of the Past,’ in Art, Memory, and

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Family in Renaissance Florence, ed. Giovanni Ciappelli and Patricia Rubin (Cambridge, 2000), 176–​94; Charles Burroughs, The Italian Renaissance Palace façade: Structures of Authority, Surfaces of Sense (Cambridge, 2002). 100 Carlo Celano, Delle notizie del bello, dell’antico, e del curioso della città di Napoli, BNN: RAC VILLA 615 (Naples, 1792), 112–​13. 101 Ibid., 146. 102 Ibid., 148–​49. 103 de Divitiis, ‘New Evidence II,’ 335–​53. 104 The manuscript’s authorship is up for debate, Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 38 and 343 Doc. 218; Don Fastidio, ‘Notizie ed osservazioni:  la testa di cavallo del Palazzo Maddaloni,’ Napoli Nobilissima 2, no. 9 (1893): 159. The two texts are published in Fabio Benedettucci, ed. Il libro di Antonio Billi (Rome, 1991), 47 and 138. Also see Carl Frey, ed. Il Codice Magliabechiano cl.XVII.17 (Berlin, 1892), 78. 105 Girolamo Mancini, ‘Vite d’Artisti di G.B Gelli,’ Archivio storico italiano xvii (1896): 60. 106 Fausto Nicolini, L’Arte Napoletana del Rinascimento e la lettera di Pietro Summonte a Marcantonio Michiel (Naples, 1925), 166. 107 Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de piu eccelenti architetti, pittori, et scultori italiani,Vol. I, BL: 132.b.13,14 (Florence:  Lorenzo Torentino, 1550), 351. Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de piu eccelenti architetti, pittori, et scultori italiani,Vol. I, BL: 137.d.14 (Florence: i Giunti, 1568), 332. 108 Filangieri notes that the original of this inventory was shown to him by his friend, ‘Signore duca di Maddaloni.’ The inventory however is not in Archivio Carafa di Maddaloni e di Colubrano in the Archivio di Stato di Napoli. When the inventory is mentioned in the literature, Filangieri is always referenced as the source. Filangieri, ‘Testa di cavallo,’ 419. 109 Ibid., 413; Reumont, The Carafas, 119–​20. 110 ASNA Archivio Carafa di Maddaloni e di Colubrano I.A.2. The will was published by Persico in 1899 as an appendix to his biography of Diomede Persico, Carafa. 111 Laura Mascoli, ed. Le ‘Voyage de Naple’ (1719) de Ferdinand Delamonce (Naples and Rome, 1984), 88. 112 Iasiello, Collezionismo di antichità, 117 n. 91. 113 Johann Joachim Winckelmann, History of Ancient Art, trans. Alexander Gode, Vol. 3 (New York, 1968), ch. II, 82. See also n. 25 on p. 383. 114 Goethe, Italian Journey, 1786–​1788, 186. 115 Ceci, ‘Palazzo Carafa,’ 170 116 Quoted in ibid. 117 Lorenzo Giustiniani, Guida per lo Real Museo Borbonico/​A Guide through the Royal Bourbonic Museum (Naples, 1822), 42–​43. 118 Aldo de Rinaldis, ‘Per una testa di cavallo in bronzo nella pinacoteca di Napoli,’ Rassegna d’Arte 9 (1909):  13–​16. For a discussion of the different scholarly views in relation to Gattamelata see Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 224 n. 26; Borrelli, ‘Un dono,’ 241. 119 Licia Vlad Borrelli, ‘Considerazioni su tre problematiche teste di cavallo,’ Bollettino d’Arte 71 (1992); Borrelli, ‘Un dono.’ 120 Edilberto Formigli, ‘La grande testa di cavallo in bronzo detta ‘Carafa’:  un’indagine tecnologica,’ Bollettino d’Arte 71 (1992): 83–​90. 121 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 224 n. 26; Borrelli, ‘Considerazioni.’ 122 Beschi, ‘Lorenzo,’ 295. Also see Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 35. 123 Beschi, ‘Lorenzo,’ 295. The text is also quoted in Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 37 and 344, Doc. 219. 124 Ibid., 36–​37. 125 Ibid., 38–​39; Philippe Velay, ed., A l’ombre de Vésuve: Collections du musée national d’Archéologie de Naples (Paris, 1995), 110, Cat. 26. 126 George L. Hersey, The Aragonese Arch at Naples: 1443–​1475 (New Haven, CT, and London, 1973), 53; Hersey, ‘Arch of Alfonso.’ 127 Hersey, ‘Arch of Alfonso,’ 22.

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1 28 Hersey, Aragonese Arch, 53. 129 Ibid., 54 and 66, Doc. 7. 130 Francesco Caglioti, ‘Fifteenth-​Century Reliefs of Ancient Emperors and Empresses in Florence:  Production and Collecting,’ in Collecting Sculpture in Early Modern Europe, ed. Nicholas Penny and Eike Schmidt (Washington, DC, and New Haven, CT, 2008), 67–​71. 131 Archivio dello Spedale degl’Innocenti, Florence, Estranei, 263, Fol. 226. ‘Bartolomeo di Pagholo Serragli […] per dare [a]‌Antonio di Lorenzo pro[c]acia uno chavallo di bronzo s’à [a] fare.’ Quoted in Caglioti, ‘Fifteenth-​Century Reliefs,’ 94 n.  18; Caglioti, ‘Horse’s Head,’ 199. Also see Frederick Hartt and Gino Corti, ‘New Documents Concerning Donatello, Luca and Andrea della Robbia, Desiderio, Mino, Ucello, Pollaiuolo, Filippo Lippi, Baldovinetti and Others,’ The Art Bulletin 44, no. 2 (1962): 155–​67. 132 Andrea Bernardoni, ‘Leonardo and the Equestrian Monument for Francesco Sforza: The Story of an Unrealized Monumental Sculpture,’ in Leonardo da Vinci and The Art of Sculpture, ed. Gary M.  Radke (Atlanta, Los Angeles, and New Haven, CT, 2009), 95–​135; Evelyn S.  Welch, Art and Authority in Renaissance Milan (New Haven, CT, and London, 1995), 199–​201. 133 Quoted in Bernardoni, ‘Leonardo and the Equestrian Monument,’ 99. 134 Ibid., 105–​6. 135 Ibid., 117 and n.  90; Philip Grierson, ‘Ercole d’Este and Leonardo da Vinci’s Equestrian Statue of Francesco Sforza,’ Italian Studies 14, no. 1 (1959): 40–​48. 136 de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza; de Divitiis, ‘Building All’Antica,’ 505–​22; Francesco Caglioti, ‘Il David bronzeo di Donatello,’ in Donatello:  Il David restaurato, ed. Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi (Florence, 2008), 68–​69. 137 de Divitiis, ‘New Evidence I,’ 106. 138 Hersey, Aragonese Arch, 21. 139 Michael Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators:  Humanist Observers of Painting in Italy and the Discovery of Pictorial Composition, 1350–​1450 (Oxford, 1971), 112–​13. 140 Michael Mallett, ‘Horse-​ Racing and Politics in Lorenzo’s Florence,’ in Lorenzo the Magnificent: Culture and Politics, ed. Michael Mallett and Nicholas Mann (London, 1996), 257. 141 For the Gonzaga and Lorenzo see ibid., 255; Hook, Lorenzo, 17 and 34–​35; Medici, Lettere 1, 1, 34–​7. For Carafa see Moores, ‘Diomede Carafa,’ 79. On 3 March 1474 and on 17 November 1492, Neapolitan court records show payments for books on the ‘medicine of horses.’ Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 397; Nicola Barone, ‘Le Cedole di Tesoreria dell’Archivio di Stato di Napoli dall’anno 1460 al 1504,’ Archivio storico per le province napoletane 10 (1885): 20. For the importance of the equestrian in the early modern period, see Pia F.  Cuneo, ‘Beauty and the Beast:  Art and Science in Early Modern European Equine Imagery,’ Journal of Early Modern History 4, no. 3/​4 (2000): 269–​321; Lisa Jardine and Jerry Brotton, Global Interests: Renaissance Art between East and West (Ithaca, NY, 2000), 132–​85; Elizabeth MacKenzie Tobey, ‘The Palio in Italian Renaissance Art, Thought, and Culture’ (PhD thesis, University of Maryland, 2005). 142 Payment recorded 1 May 1460, Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 12. 143 ASMI SPE 220, 6, 1471 10 June, Giovanni Andrea to Galeazzo Sforza. 144 ASMI SPE 223, Letter 147, 19 November 1472, Francesco Maleta to Galeazzo Sforza. 145 Francesco Maleta to Galeazzo Sforza, ASMI SPE 224. 2, 23 May 1473. 146 In 1467 Ferrante wrote to Ludovico Gonzaga about a horse that Ludovico particularly liked, which the king had bought for Ludovico, ASMA AG 802 letter of 23 February 1467. In November 1478 Ferrante sent two more horses to Mantua, to Federico Gonzaga, ASMA AG 802, letter of 28 November 1478. On 24 January 1482 Georgio Brongoli reported that Ferrante was giving a ‘corsero’ and a ‘zanetto’ to Francesco Gonzaga, see letter of 24 January 1482, ASMA AG 806. 147 Letter of 25 July 1492, Ferrante to Francesco Gonzaga, ASMA AG 802. 148 For example, Ferrante gave horses to the ambassador of the King of Datia in April 1474 (ASMI SPE 225); he gave a horse to the ambassador of France on 25 March 1474 (ASMI

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SPE 227); the Hungarian ambassadors were given horses in 1475 (ASMI SPE 227); in March 1467 and in April 1482 the Turkish ambassador gave horses to Ferrante as gifts from the sultan (ASMA AG 805 and ASMI SPE 241, respectively); gifts from the French ambassador in November 1484 included horses (ASMI SPE 244); and upon the French ambassador’s departure he is also presented with horses and mules in January 1485 (ASMI SPE 245). 149 In 1472 Ferrante gave a horse and some silver to Carlino Cammastro, a Milanese ambassador to Naples (ASMI SPE 221); in 1475 he provided the Hungarian ambassadors with textiles and horses (ASMI SPE 227); and in February and March 1482 the Milanese and Florentine ambassadors received horses from the king (ASMI SPE 237 and 238). 150 Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia,’ 110–​11. 151 A copy of the letter sent by the Duke of Milan requesting recommendations for suitable gifts can be found in ASMI SPE 226 (Letter 107 from 14 November 1474, from the duke to Francesco Maleta). 152 ASMI SPE 226, 100 from 29 November 1474. 153 Bentley, Politics and Culture, 28. 154 Mallett, ‘Horse-​Racing,’ 260–​61. 155 Medici, Lettere 1, 1, 179. 156 Ibid., 35; André Rochon, La jeunesse de Laurent de Médicis (1449–​1478) (Paris, 1963), 263–​64. 157 Hook, Lorenzo, 34. Medici, Lettere 1, 1, 35. 158 Moores, ‘New Light on Diomede,’ 11. 159 Butters, ‘Lorenzo and Naples,’ 147. 160 Pontieri stresses that relations were good during this time, Ernesto Pontieri, ‘La dinastia Aragonese di Napoli e la casa de’ Medici in Firenze,’ Archivio storico per le province napoletane 26 (1940):  280. While Butters and Moores disagree, Butters, ‘Lorenzo and Naples,’ 147; Moores, ‘New Light on Diomede,’ 11–​12. 161 Moores, ‘New Light on Diomede,’ 12 and 22–​23, Doc. VII. 162 Hook, Lorenzo, 35. 163 Lorenzo’s horses were not successful that year. Mallett, ‘Horse-​Racing,’ 258–​59; Medici, Lettere 1, 1, 36–​38. 164 Appadurai, ‘Commodities and Politics,’ 18–​21; Mauss, The Gift, 20–​25. 165 Weiner, Inalienable Possessions, 33; Thomas, Entangled Objects, esp. 22–​27. 166 Mario Rasile, I ‘cavalli’ delle zecche napoletane nel periodo Aragonese (Gaeta, Italy, 1980), 7. 167 Hersey, ‘Arch of Alfonso,’ 20 and 23 n. 14. 168 Bentley, Politics and Culture, 24–​33. 169 Rasile, Cavalli, 7; Borrelli, ‘Un dono,’ 235–​36; Michael H.  Crawford, Coinage and Money under the Roman Republic: Italy and the Mediterranean Economy (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1985), 26–​30, 38–​39, and 106, Fig. 33. 170 Rasile, Cavalli, 7; Arturo G.  Sambon, ‘I cavalli di Ferdinando I  d’Aragona re di Napoli,’ Rivista italiana di numismatica e scienze affini 4 (1891): 327. 171 Sambon, ‘cavalli,’ 327 n. 4. 172 Letter to Demetrius Chrysoloras, quoted in Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators, 81–​82. 173 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 283, Doc. 10. 174 de Divitiis, ‘New Evidence I,’ 106. 175 de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza, 95–​127; Iasiello, Collezionismo di antichità, 110–​18. 176 Clarke, Roman House, 226. 177 de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza, 102. Pozzuoli was a frequented destination for the Aragonese and nobility, not only for its restorative baths, but also as a site to visit antiquities and ruins. For instance in October 1489, artists were paid by the Duke of Calabria to visit Pozzuoli to look at the antiquities there. Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN X,’ 6. In 1466 Ippolita wrote to her mother, Bianca Maria, about going to Pozzuoli for the baths and to look at antiquities there, ASMI SPE 215, 101, 6 January 1466.

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178 Clarke, Roman House, 243; Roberto Pane, Architettura del rinascimento in Napoli (Naples, 1937), 107; de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza, 48–​49. 179 A large marble slab with Ferrante’s stemma with the inscription FIDELITAS ET AMOR is still visible today in the centre wall of the courtyard. This inscription is also repeated in the frontispiece in two of Diomede’s memoriali written for Beatrice and Eleonora d’Aragona (see following text, Chapter 4). For the palace see de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza, 48. 180 Findlen, ‘Possessing the Past’; Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (London, 1970); Krzysztof Pomian, Collectors and Curiosities: Paris and Venice, 1500–​1800, trans. Elizabeth Wiles-​Portier (Cambridge, 1990); Kathleen Wren Christian, Empire without End:  Antiquities Collections in Renaissance Rome, c.  1350–​1527 (London and New Haven, CT, 2010). 181 Leah R. Clark, ‘Collecting, Exchange, and Sociability in the Renaissance Studiolo,’ Journal of the History of Collections 25, no. 2 (2013): 171–​84. 182 For the horse’s head as a pastiche, see Alexander Nagel and Christopher S. Wood, Anachronic Renaissance (New  York, 2010), 290–​91. For the modern/​ancient paradigm, see Barkan, Unearthing the Past, 204–​6. 183 Sarah Blake McHam, Looking at Italian Renaissance Sculpture (Cambridge, 1998); Adrian Randolph, Engaging Symbols:  Gender, Politics, and Public Art in Fifteenth-​Century Florence (New Haven, CT, and London, 2002). 184 Findlen, ‘Possessing the Past.’ 185 Barkan, Unearthing the Past, 119. 186 Leonard Barkan, ‘The Beholder’s Tale:  Ancient Sculpture, Renaissance Narratives,’ Representations 44 (1993): 136. 187 Christian, Empire without End, ch. 3; Barkan, Unearthing the Past, 210–​23; Rose Marie San Juan, Rome: A City Out of Print (Minneapolis and London, 2001), 1–​21. 188 Ronald Weissman, ‘Taking Patronage Seriously:  Mediterranean Values and Renaissance Society,’ in Patronage, Art, and Society in Renaissance Italy, ed. F. W. Kent and Patricia Simons (Oxford, 1987), 44. 189 For Mauss’s dependence on this idea as a way to critique capitalism see Patrick J. Geary, ‘Gift Exchange and Social Science Modeling,’ in Negotiating the Gift: Pre-​Modern Figurations of Exchange, ed. Gadi Algazi,Valentin Groebner, and Bernhard Jussen (Göttingen, Germany, 2003), 129–​40; Beate Wagner-​Hasel, ‘Egoistic Exchange and Altruistic Gift: On the Roots of Marcel Mauss’s Theory of the Gift,’ in Negotiating the Gift:  Pre-​Modern Figurations of Exchange, ed. Gadi Algazi, Valentin Groebner, and Bernhard Jussen (Göttingen, Germany, 2003), 141–​71. 190 I am aware here that I  am conflating the numerous histories of the horse and its representations, but early modern viewers would have most likely also conflated these references as the two stories about the horse from the cathedral and Carafa’s horse became more and more confused. 2  PRACTICES OF EXCHANGE

1 Marco Parenti, Lettere, ed. Maria Marrese (Florence, 1996), 236–​38, letter 92. Mario del Treppo, ‘Le avventure storiografiche della Tavola Strozzi,’ in Fra storia e storiografia: Scritti in onore di pasquale villani, ed. P. Marcy and A. Massafra (Bologna, 1994), 488–​89; Eve Borsook, ‘Documenti relativi alle Capelle di Lecceto e delle Selve di Filippo Strozzi,’ Antichità Viva 9, no. 3 (1970): 14, Appendix I.9. 2 The literature is large, but for a start see Michele Cassandro, ‘Affari e uomini d’affari fiorentini a Napoli sotto Ferrante I  d’Aragona (1472–​1495),’ in Studi di storia economica Toscana nel medioevo e nel rinascimento. In memoria di Federigo Melis, Biblioteca del ‘Bollettino Storico Pisano’ (Pisa, Italy, 1987), 103–​ 23; de Roover, Medici Bank; Michele Jacoviello, ‘Affari di Medici e Strozzi nel regno di Napoli nella seconda metà del Quattrocento,’ Archivio storico italiano 144 (1986): 169–​96; Giuseppe Petralia, Banchieri e famiglie mercantili

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nel Mediterraneo aragonese: L’emigrazione dei pisani in Sicilia nel Quattrocento (Pisa, Italy, 1989); Alfonso Silvestri, ‘Sull’attività bancaria napoletana durante il periodo aragonese,’ Bollettino dell’Archivio Storico Banco di Napoli 6 (1953): 80–​121; Pasquale Sposato, ‘Attività commerciali degli Aragonesi nella seconda metà del quattrocento,’ in Studi in onore di Riccardo Filangieri (Naples, 1959), 213–​ 31; Sergio Tognetti, ‘Uno scambio diseguale:  Aspetti dei rapporti commerciali tra Firenze e Napoli nella seconda metà del Quattrocento,’ Archivio storico italiano 158 (2000): 461–​90; Dauverd, Imperial Ambition. Earlier general studies on merchants in the medieval period and Renaissance include Jacques le Goff, Marchands et banquiers du Moyen Age (Paris, 1966); Georges Yver, Le commerce et les marchands dans l’Italie méridionale au XIIIe et au XIVe siècle (Paris, 1903). 3 For instance, the literature on Filippo Strozzi focuses mostly on his artistic patronage, rather than on his position as merchant banker. John Russell Sale, ‘The Strozzi Chapel by Filippino Lippi in Santa Maria Novella’ (PhD thesis, University of Pennsylvania, 1976); Borsook, ‘Documenti Strozzi’; F. W. Kent, ‘ “Più superba de quella de Lorenzo”: Courtly and Family Interest in the Building of Filippo Strozzi’s Palace,’ Renaissance Quarterly 30, no.  3 (1977):  311–​23. Goldthwaite has studied Strozzi’s banking activities in relation to the wealth of the Strozzi family: Richard A.  Goldthwaite, Private Wealth in Renaissance Florence:  A Study of Four Families (Princeton, NJ, 1968), 31–​73. Two recent exhibitions, however have attempted to bring together the artistic and social concerns of merchant bankers and the related material culture, Ludovica Sebregondi and Tim Parks, eds., Denaro e Bellezza:  I banchieri, Botticelli e il rogo delle vanità (Florence, 2012); Monica Bietti, Anna Maria Giusti, and Maria Sframeli, eds., The Splendour of the Medici: Art and Life in Renaissance Florence (Budapest, 2008). 4 Marika Keblusek, ‘Introduction:  Double Agents in Early Modern Europe,’ in Double Agents:  Cultural and Political Brokerage in Early Modern Europe, ed. Marika Keblusek and Badeloch Noldus (Leiden, The Netherlands, and Boston, 2011), 1–​9. 5 Welch, Shopping; Jardine, Worldly Goods. Jardine’s work is useful conceptually, but has been critiqued for its historical inaccuracies; for a review see Lauro Martines,‘Review Essay: The Renaissance and the Birth of Consumer Society,’ Renaissance Quarterly 51 (1998): 193–​203. On the second-​hand market, Ann Matchette, ‘Credit and Credibility:  Used Goods and Social Relations in Sixteenth-​Century Florence,’ in The Material Renaissance, ed. Michelle O’Malley and Evelyn S.  Welch (Manchester, UK, and New  York, 2007), 225–​41. Other studies include Lawrin Armstrong, Ivana Elbl, and Martin M. Elbl, eds., Money, Markets and Trade in Late Medieval Europe: Essays in Honour of John H.A. Munro (Boston and Leiden,The Netherlands, 2007); Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ed., Merchant Networks in the Early Modern World, Vol. 8 (Aldershot, UK, 1996); Marcello Fantoni, Louisa C. Matthew, and Sara F. Matthews-​ Grieco, eds., The Art Market in Italy:  15th–​17th Centuries/​Il mercato dell’arte in Italia secc. XV–​XVII (Ferrara, Italy, 2003); Pamela H.  Smith and Paula Findlen, eds., Merchants and Marvels: Commerce, Science, and Art in Early Modern Europe (New York and London, 2002); Craig Muldrew, The Economy of Obligation:  The Culture of Credit and Social Relations in Early Modern England (New York, 1998); Jardine and Brotton, Global Interests; Rosamond E. Mack, Bazaar to Piazza: Islamic Trade and Italian Art, 1300–​1600 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London, 2002). 6 Chandra Mukerji, From Graven Images:  Patterns of Modern Materialism (New  York, 1983); Goldthwaite,‘Empire of Things’; Goldthwaite, Wealth and Demand; Richard A. Goldthwaite, ‘The Economy of Renaissance Italy: The Preconditions for Luxury Consumption,’ I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance 2 (1987): 15–​39. 7 See Chapter 1 for the extensive literature on gifting. 8 For an innovative study that looks at these two systems together, although for a later period, see Laurence Fontaine, The Moral Economy: Poverty, Credit, and Trust in Early Modern Europe (New York and Cambridge, 2014). 9 Welch, Shopping, 90–​93, 196. Also see Evelyn S. Welch,‘From Retail to Resale: Artistic Value and the Second-​Hand Market in Italy (1400–​1550),’ in The Art Market In Italy: 15th–​17th

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Centuries/​Il mercato dell’arte in Italia secc. XV–​XVII, ed. Marcello Fantoni, Louisa C. Matthew, and Sara F.  Matthews-​Grieco (Ferrara, Italy, 2003); Matchette, ‘Credit and Credibility,’ 225–​41. 10 For pawning see Welch, Shopping, 196–​203. Also see Frederic C.  Lane and Reinhold C.  Mueller, Money and Banking in Medieval and Renaissance Venice:  Coins and Moneys of Account, Vol. 1 (Baltimore and London, 1985), 75–​78. For later pawning and the institution of the Monte de Pietà, see Vittorino Meneghin, I monti di pietà in Italia: dal 1462 al 1562 (Vicenza, Italy, 1986); Carol Bresnahan Menning, Charity and State in Late Renaissance Italy: The Monte di Pietà of Florence (Ithaca, NY, and London, 1993). 11 Shepard, Accounting for Oneself. 12 Fontaine, Moral Economy, 10–​11. 13 Guerzoni, ‘Liberalitas’; Guido Guerzoni, Apollo e Vulcano:  I mercati artistici in Italia (1400–​ 1700) (Venice, 2006). 14 For intermediality see Peter Wagner, ed. Icons, Texts, Iconotexts:  Essays on Ekphrasis and Intermediality (Berlin and New York, 1996). 15 Arnold Esch, ‘Roman Customs Registers 1470–​80: Items of Interest to Historians of Art and Material Culture,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 42, no. 1 (1995): 87. 16 Quoted and translated in Welch, Shopping, 68. 17 Mario del Treppo, ‘Il re e il banchiere. Strumenti e processi di razionalizzazione dello stato aragonese di Napoli,’ in Spazio, società, potere nell’Italia dei Comuni, ed. Gabriella Rossetti (Naples, 1986), 229–​304; Mario del Treppo and Alfonso Leone, Amalfi medioevale, ed. Luigi de Rosa (Naples, 1977); David Abulafia, ‘The Crown and the Economy under Ferrante I of Naples (1458–​94),’ in City and Countryside in Late Medieval and Renaissance Italy: Essays Presented to Philip Jones, ed.Trevor Dean and Chris Wickham (London and Ronceverte,WV, 1990), 125–​46; Silvestri, ‘Attività bancaria,’ 80–​121; Sposato, ‘Attività commerciali’; Tognetti, ‘Uno scambio’; Bianca Mazzoleni, ed. Fonti Aragonesi: Fabrica del Castello di Cotrone (1485), Libro de Fuste di Policastro (1486), Registro IV della Tesoreria Generale (1487), Concessione di Sale ai Monasteri (1497–​1498),Vol. IX serie II (Naples, 1978); Dauverd, Imperial Ambition. 18 Abulafia, ‘Crown and Economy,’ 134–​37. 19 del Treppo, ‘Re e banchiere,’ 279. 20 The accounts of the Strozzi Bank in 1473, for instance, shows that the state only formed 36.6 per cent of its clientele, while merchants constituted 53 per cent, citizens 5.10 per cent, and ‘feudatari,’ such as local lords and counts, comprised 5.3. per cent, del Treppo, ‘Re e banchiere,’ 248. 21 For a study on the court as a site of cultural exchange as an open rather than closed institution, see Nolde, Svalduz, and del Río Barredo, ‘City Courts,’ 254–​85. 22 Lane and Mueller, Money and Banking, I, 69; Raymond de Roover, Business, Banking, and Economic Thought in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe: Selected Studies of Raymond de Roover, ed. Julius Kirshner (Chicago and London 1974), 210. 23 For the seminal text on the new diplomacy see Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy. For recent scholarship that has largely questioned the traditional view, see Erik Thomson, ‘For a Comparative History of Early Modern Diplomacy,’ Scandinavian Journal of History 31, no.  2 (2006):  151–​72; Watkins, ‘Toward a New Diplomatic History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe,’ 1–​14. Nancy Um and Leah R. Clark, eds., Special Issue: The Art of Embassy:  Situating Objects and Images in the Early Modern Diplomatic Encounter. Journal of Early Modern History 20, no. 1 (2016). Also see Chapter 1. 24 Goldthwaite, Private Wealth, 9, 31–​73. Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ esp. 7–​82. For Strozzi patronage see Borsook, ‘Documenti Strozzi.’ For Strozzi’s quest to return from exile see Mark Phillips, The Memoir of Marco Parenti: A Life in Medici Florence (Princeton, NJ, 1987). For the Strozzi family in general see Lorenzo Fabbri, Alleanza matrimoniale e patriziato nella Firenze del ‘400:  studio sulla famiglia Strozzi (Florence, 1991). For the dispersal of the family due to exile, see Lorenzo Fabbri, ‘The Memory of Exiles Families: The Case of the Strozzi,’ in Art, Memory, and Family in Renaissance Florence, ed. Giovanni Ciappelli and Patricia Rubin

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(Cambridge, 2000), 253–​61. The Strozzi archives in Florence are also well preserved (ASF CS). Some of these primary sources have been published, including one account book of the Strozzi Bank, Alfonso Leone, ed., Il giornale del Banco Strozzi di Napoli (1473), Fonti e documenti per la storia del Mezzogiorno d’Italia (Naples, 1981). Filippo Strozzi kept constant correspondence with his brother-​in-​law Marco Parenti and the letters are published in Parenti, Lettere. 25 Pontieri, ‘Dinastia Aragonese,’ 288. 26 Phillips, Memoir, 127. 27 Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 14–​15. 28 Goldthwaite, Private Wealth, 56–​57. 29 For instance, Filippo named his daughter and son after the king’s children, Eleonora and Alfonso.When Filippo’s son, Alfonso Strozzi, was baptised in Florence, Filippo had Lorenzo de’ Medici serve as the proxy godfather for the boy’s namesake, Alfonso d’Aragona, Duke of Calabria. ASF, CS, Serie V-​17, 189V. Eleonora d’Aragona, Duchess of Ferrara wrote to Filippo on 17 December 1475, thanking him for advising her on the health of her father, King Ferrante, ASF CS, serie III, 133, 47R. 30 For example, on 28 September 1470, Ferrante paid 37 ducati 2 tari and 18 grana through Filippo Strozzi for Aristotle’s Etica Economica e Poetica. Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 230. 31 On 22 July 1471 Marino Tomacello asked Filippo for help in urging Vespasiano to complete a book Marino had ordered, and again Marino is recorded shipping books through the Strozzi Company in 1474 and 1475, Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 37 and 73 n.  137. Marino Tomacello, who served as Neapolitan ambassador to Florence, also functioned as a contact for the shipment of books for the Neapolitan court. On 28 November and 22 March 1473 Marino was paid for a large quantity of books including Tre deche di Livio, Commentarii di Cesare, a volume of works by Virgil, among others consigned to the Biblioteca Reale, Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 237, 287. Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 37 and 73 n.  137. Giovanni Pontano purchased a number of unnamed books from Vespasiano through Filippo Strozzi in 1467 and 1468, Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 73 n. 138. In 1480, Strozzi is also noted procuring books for Federigo da Montefeltro for a sum of 66 florins, Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 37. 32 Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 38–​43. 33 At about the same time, in 1487, Filippo is recorded offering a gift of rich violet cloth to Vespasiano, which cost Filippo 12 d’oro larghi. Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 37 and 516, Appendix A, Doc. 6. 34 ASF, CS,V, 22, 95R-​95V. The gifts are recorded as bought between 24 November 1472 and 3 June 1473. The list comprises various court individuals from the king to the king’s secretaries. For a partial transcriptions see del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 510–​13; Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 514–​16, Appendix A. IV.4. 35 Guido Guerzoni, ‘Liberalitas, Magnificentia, Splendor:  The Classic Origins of Italian Renaissance Lifestyles,’ History of Political Economy 31 (1999): 348. 36 Patricia Lee Rubin, ‘Domenico Ghirlandaio and the Meaning of History in Fifteenth-​ Century Florence,’ in Domenico Ghirlandaio 1449–​1494:  Atti del Convegno Internazionale Firenze, 16–​19 ottobre 1994, ed. Wolfram Prinz and Max Seidel (Florence, 1996), 97–​117. 37 Hilsdale, Byzantine Art, 13. 38 Al S[ignore] Mes[ser] diomedes Carraffa conte di Matalon[e] Ij teste de marmo costorono   …… f. 8 la[rghi] Ij pannj d[i]‌fiandra depintte   ……f. 12   }In t[ut]t[o] f.40 I sanfranc[esco] depinto in una tavola di ma[no] d[i]‌Rugierj Costo d. 10, ma valeva 20   ……f.20 j˚ bacino di bischotellj

My transcription. ASF, CS V.22 95R. Also see del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 511. For Northern paintings in Italy see Michael Baxandall, ‘Bartholomaeus Facius on Painting: A Fifteenth-​ Century Manuscript of the De Viris Illustribus,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes

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27 (1964):  90–​107. Paula Nuttall, From Flanders to Florence:  The Impact of Netherlandish Painting, 1400–​1500 (New Haven, CT, and London, 2004). Andreas Beyer, ‘Princes, Patrons and Eclecticism: Naples and the North,’ in The Age of Van Eyck: The Mediterranean World and Early Netherlandish Painting, 1430–​1530, ed. Till-​Holger Borchert (New York and London, 2002), 119–​27. 39 Corazzol, Barbaro Dispacci, 225, letter 104, from 31 March 1472. Also see discussion in Chapter 1. 40 ‘j˚ testa di marmo in p[er]fezio[ne] costo…f.5’ASF CSV.22 95R; del Treppo,‘Avventure,’ 511. 41 ASF CS V.22 95R. 42 ‘La Ill[ustrissi]ma Madama lionora loro sorella j spechio dacio quadro adornato d[i]‌no’cie i[n]tarsiato co[n] la sua arma molto bello co’stoni f. 14 l[arghi]……f. 14’ ASF, CS V, 22. 95R. Also transcribed in del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 512; Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 515, Appendix A.iv.4. Various mirrors are recorded in Eleonora’s account books: ASMO AP 638,135R. ASMO AP 640, 25R, 61V, 116V; ASMO G 114, 75V and 131R, see Appendix in this book. 43 ASF CS III, 33, 33R. Also see del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 505 n. 86. 44 del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 512–​14. 45 See Chapter  1 for the political role of the Medici in Naples. For an overview of the Medici Bank in general see de Roover, Medici Bank. For the bank in Naples specifically, see Jacoviello, ‘Affari,’ 169–​96. 46 de Roover, Medici Bank, 254. 47 The Nacci company is also recorded as Nazi, Nazzi, Nasi, or Nacchi, de Roover, Medici Bank, 152–​66, 257–​59. 48 Jacoviello, ‘Affari,’ 194. 49 The plan still survives in a book of Sangallo’s designs, see Stefano Borsi, Giuliano da Sangallo: I disegni di architettura e dell’antico (Rome, 1985), 395. 50 Böninger, ‘Politics and Toleration,’ 139–​71. 51 Gaye, Carteggio inedito d’artisti dei secoli XIV, XV, XVI, I, 175–​81. For the English translation of the letter from Lippi of 20 July 1457, see Baxandall, Painting and Experience, 3–​4. For a discussion of the letters see Elam, ‘Art and Diplomacy’; Caglioti, ‘Fifteenth-​Century Reliefs,’ 95 n. 20. 52 Elam, ‘Art and Diplomacy,’ 816. 53 Megan Holmes, Fra Filippo Lippi:  The Carmelite Painter (New Haven, CT, and London, 1999), 175–​77. 54 Letter from Giovanni de’ Medici in response to two letters from Serragli from 27 May 1458, Gaye, Carteggio inedito d’artisti dei secoli XIV, XV, XVI, I, 180–​81; Elam, ‘Art and Diplomacy,’ 815. 55 Caglioti, ‘Fifteenth-​Century Reliefs,’ 95 n. 20. 56 Documents related to Serragli were first published by Hartt and Corti, ‘New Documents,’ 155–​67. For clarification and expansion of these documents see Caglioti,‘Fifteenth-​Century Reliefs.’ 57 Goldthwaite, Private Wealth, 157–​86. The Gondi archives are in Florence (Archivio Gondi in ASF) and some later documents (mostly sixteenth century) in the Lea Library at the University of Pennsylvania, but none of them contain ricordanze, Rudolf Hirsch and Gino Corti, ‘Medici-​Gondi Archive II,’ Renaissance Quarterly 23, no. 2 (1970): 150–​52; S. Tabacchi, ‘Gondi, Giuliano,’ in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, ed. Alberto Maria Ghisalberti (Rome, 1976), 656–​59. Also see Pellecchia, ‘Sangallo’s Staircase,’ 137–​207. For their activities in France in the sixteenth century see Joanna Milstein, The Gondi: Family Strategy and Survival in Early Modern France (London, 2016). 58 Tabacchi, ‘Gondi, Giuliano,’ 656; Goldthwaite, Private Wealth, 160. 59 Goldthwaite, Private Wealth, 161, 164. 60 On 2 August 1478 Giuliano Gondi was reimbursed for luxury cloth and he is recorded in court documents making payments to Vespasiano da Bisticci for a Tera Deca by Livy. On 19 April 1486 Giuliano Gondi is recorded in a payment for the cost of a work by Seneca,

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NOTES TO PAG E S 7 1 – 7 7

transcribed for Duke Alfonso d’Aragona and for another book by Livy, Leone, Giornale di Strozzi, 76; Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 402, 604, 620. 61 The Florentine chronicler Benedetto Dei reports that Giuliano was ‘amunito et chondanato […] per falsario.’ Tabacchi, ‘Gondi, Giuliano,’ 658; Goldthwaite, Private Wealth, 161 n. 18. 62 Quoted in Pellecchia, ‘Sangallo’s Staircase,’ 140 n. 14. 63 On 3 January 1487 Giuliano and Antonio Gondi are recorded as receiving payments in Eleonora d’Aragona’s account books for unspecified goods; on 3 April 1487 Giuliano Gondi was paid for a cross; on 21 May 1491 Giuliano and Antonio Gondi were paid for a gold frieze made of cloth, which cost 141 lire marchesane and 15 soldi. ASMO AP 633, 59V, 73V, and 221V. On 22 February 1487 Giuliano Gondi was paid for providing Eleonora expensive brocade material, which was made into a bed cover. ASMO AP 638, 102R. On 30 March 1479 Giuliano Gondi was paid for providing 14 braccia of gold brocade cloth for the palio of Saint George. ASMO G9, 12V. For the gift of cloth see, ASMO AP 589, 42R. Recorded on 31 March 1491. Antonio Gondi also died in Ferrara, see Goldthwaite, Private Wealth, 164. 64 Florentine investment in the south declined in the sixteenth century, see Antonio Calabria, ‘What Happened to Tuscan Capital Investment in Sixteenth-​Century Naples? An Unsolved Problem in the History of Early Capitalism,’ Essays in Economic and Business History 18, no. 1 (2000): 1–​16. 65 Various entries throughout Leone, Giornale di Strozzi. 66 Ibid., 15. 67 Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN X,’ 6; Jacoviello, ‘Affari,’ 183. 68 Diomede, in a letter to Eleonora d’Aragona records these gifts as being sent through Filippo Strozzi. Almost all of Diomede’s letters are given month and day but with no year, but Moores suggests this letter may have been written in 1480. ASMO CPE 1248.4. Letter of 26 May 14–​? Also see Moores, ‘New Light on Diomede,’ 21–​22, Doc. VI; de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza, 27. 69 ASF CS III. 247, 266R. Also partially quoted in de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza, 27. This would have been the second time that Diomede sent a buffone to Lorenzo de’ Medici, the first on occasion for Galeazzo Maria Sforza’s visit, which may have prompted the gift of the horse’s head, see Chapter 1. 70 ASF CS V, 17, 149v. Borsook, ‘Florentine Scrittoio.’ 71 For Carafa’s collection and building enterprise see de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza. 72 del Treppo, ‘Re e banchiere,’ 296. 73 Maddalena Trionfi Honorati, ‘A proposito del “lettuccio”,’ Antichità Viva 20, no.  3 (1981): 39–​48; Peter Thornton, The Italian Renaissance Interior: 1400–​1600 (New York, 1991), 148–​53; Fausto Calderai and Simone Chiarugi, ‘The Lettuccio (Daybed) and Cappellinaio (Hat Rack),’ in At Home in Renaissance Italy, ed. Marta Ajmar-​Wollheim and Flora Dennis (London, 2006), 122–​23. 74 There are a series of payments for the lettuccio, one recorded as ‘Uno lettuccio d[i]‌b[raz]a 4 ½ fatto fare p[er] lo s[ignore] comptte di matalone de dare ad xviij de luglio f xxv fatte bud/​ a guliano denardo legniauiolo p[er] fatura depso a ogni suo spexe […] f[iorini] 25.’ ASF CS V-​17, 77R, 85V, 86R. Also see de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza, 27; F. Sricchia Santoro, ‘Tra Napoli e Firenze: Diomede Carafa, gli Strozzi e un celebra “lettuccio”,’ Prospettiva 100 (2000): 42; Borsook, ‘Documenti Strozzi,’ 14. 75 ASF CS V-​17, 86R. Also see del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 497. Ronald Edward Zupko, Italian Weights and Measures from the Middle Ages to the Nineteenth Century (Philadelphia, 1981), 40–​48. 76 Thornton, Italian Renaissance Interior, 148. Girolamo Savonarola, Predica del arte del bene morire, The Metropolitan Museum: 25.30.95 (Florence: Antonio Tubin, 1502). 77 Letter 104 from 31 March 1472, Corazzol, Barbaro Dispacci, 225. 78 For the payment of the lettuccio see del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 497; Leone, Giornale di Strozzi, 734. For the Strozzi residence in Naples, see del Treppo, ‘Re e banchiere,’ 233–​34. Leon Battista Alberti is recorded staying at the Strozzi palazzo in Naples between March and

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June 1465. Although this date is earlier than the lettuccio commission, it demonstrates a wide range of visitors to the residence. See de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza, 47, 71–​72. 79 ‘J˚ lettuccio d[i]‌nocie d[i] b[racci]a 6 ch.ol chassone e spalliere e chordicie molto bello ritravovi dentro d[i] p[ros]pettiva da Napoli el chastello e loro circhustanzie costo de p[rimo] chosto f[iorini] 110 la[rghi] e tra ghabella e portatura fino a napoli c[h]e ando p[er] terra venne la:…………………………….f. 180.’ ASF CS V, 22, 95R. Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 514; del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 511. 80 In addition to the lettuccio the king received a variety of foodstuff, which came to 10 florins: ‘II bacini di marzolini 24 d[i]‌lb. 6 copia j˚ bacino d[i]‌finochio j˚ bacino d[i]‌12 salsiciuoli 2 schatole di fichi delle moaxe de San Ghagio.’ ASF, CS V.22 95R.

81 del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 487; Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 514, Appendix A.iv.4. 82 The first scholar to write on the subject was Croce who wrongly identified the scene as the triumphal entry of Lorenzo de’ Medici into Naples. Benedetto Croce, ‘Veduta della città di Napoli nel 1479 col trionfo per l’arrivo di Lorenzo de’ Medici,’ Napoli Nobilissima XIII (1904): 56–​57. It has consequently been a topic of debate, see Ferdinando Bologna, Napoli e le rotte mediterranee della pittura. Da Alfonso il Magnanimo a Ferdinando il Cattolico (Napoli, 1977), 195–​99; D.  Catalano, ‘Indagine radiologica della Tavola Strozzi,’ Napoli Nobilissima XVIII (1979): 10–​11; Guido Donatone, ‘Il lettuccio donato da Filippo Strozzi a Ferrante d’Aragona: la Tavola Strozzi,’ in Napoli, l’Europa: Ricerche di Storia dell’Arte in onore di Ferdinando Bologna (Rome, 1995), 107–​11; Roberto Pane, ‘La Tavola Strozzi tra Firenze e Napoli,’ Napoli Nobilissima XVIII, no. 1 (1979): 3–​10; Cesare de Seta,‘L’Immagine di Napoli dalla Tavola Strozzi a Jan Bruegel,’ in Scritti di Storia dell’Arte in onore di Raffaello Causa, ed. Pierluigi Leone de Castris (Naples, 1988), 105–​17; del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 483–​515. 83 The painting’s subject is verified by a letter from the Milanese ambassador in Naples describing the event, see del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 483–​84. The Tavola Strozzi has been attributed to both Neapolitan and Florentine artists such as Colantonio, Francesco Pagano, and Francesco Rosselli. de Seta, ‘Immagine di Napoli.’ For a summary of the literature and attributions see del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 484–​85. 84 del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 487. 85 A letter of 3 April 1473 written by the Strozzi Company in Florence to Filippo Strozzi in Naples, indicates that the term prospettiva refers to intarsia work. See Santoro, ‘Un celebra “lettuccio”,’ 45. Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 524 Appendix A.x.38, 56–​57 n. 25. Also see Borsook, ‘Documenti Strozzi,’ 14, Appendix I.9; Parenti, Lettere, 237. 86 Perspective views in intarsia were often found on cabinets in the studiolo, such as the woodwork done in Federigo da Montefeltro’s at Urbino, which has been attributed to the da Maiano brothers, Olga Raggio, The Gubbio Studiolo and Its Conservation (New York, 1999). Maria Grazia Ciardi Dupré dal Poggetto, ed. La bottega di Giuliano e Benedetto da Maiano nel rinascimento fiorentino (Florence, 1994). For a study on perspective, and the connection between intarsia and intellectual ideas, see James Elkins, The Poetics of Perspective (Ithaca, NY, and London, 1994), 133. 87 The paintings are mentioned in a list of items given to Alfonso di Filippo Strozzi upon Filippo’s death. Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 24–​25 and 66 n. 85. ASF, CS V, 65, Fol. 20. Also see Amanda Lillie, Florentine Villas in the Fifteenth Century:  An Architectural and Social History (Cambridge, 2005), 140. Because the Tavola Strozzi was found in the Strozzi palace, we might also assume that it has a Strozzi provenance. Filangieri suggests that the Tavola Strozzi was probably painted by one of Ferrante’s manuscript illuminators and that when he pawned many of his books during the war with the Turks, he probably also pawned the Tavola Strozzi, which explains why it was found in the merchant banker’s house. Riccardo Filangieri, Castel Nuovo:  Reggia Angioina ed Aragonese di Napoli (Naples, 1934), 250. The depiction of the Strozzi moons as well as the Aragonese imprese on the flags suggests that

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the painting was commissioned with both the Aragonese and the Strozzi in mind. Filippo Strozzi provided loans for the Battle of Ischia, and it may well have been a gift from Ferrante to Strozzi in appreciation for Strozzi funds, given to Filippo before he left for his repatriation to Florence in 1466. This would also suggest that the lettuccio’s perspective of Naples may have even been modelled on the Tavola Strozzi. 88 The view was painted by the court artist Giovanni Trullo who was paid for the work on 31 December 1485. ASMO M&F 20. 155V. Also see Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 113. There is some discrepancy between two documents, both recording payments for the artist Ercole de’ Roberti to paint a view of Naples: on 2 October 1493 Ercole is paid for work already completed, including a painting of Naples to be sent to Milan; and later in the same account book he is recorded being paid again on the same date for a painting to be sent to Mantua. ‘[…]A retrare napuli per mandare a milano como al M[e]‌m[oria]le x (92 e accredito a lei in psto’ ASMO M&F 28. 37V. ‘m˚ Hercule depintore per lo amo[n]tare p[er] ta[n]te opere lui a facto dare adepinzere la loza del zardino secreto da madama e aretrare napuli per mandare a ma[n]toa.’ ASMO M&F 28.169R. Also published in Joseph Manca, The Art of Ercole de’ Roberti (Cambridge, 1992), 216, Docs. 60 and 61; Adriano Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara in età umanistica e rinascimentale: Testimonianze archivistiche.,Vol. II.II (Ferrara, 1997), 23. Either Milan or Mantua would have been suitable destinations for the depiction as both of Eleonora’s daughters were living in these two cities –​Beatrice d’Este, the wife of Ludovico Sforza in Milan, and Isabella d’Este, the wife of Francesco Gonzaga, in Mantua. Beatrice had spent part of her childhood in Naples, and may have been a more suitable candidate. This is not the first time that the Ferrarese accounts confused Isabella and Beatrice d’Este, as a similar mistake was made in relation to marriage chests, see Manca, Art of Ercole, 199–​201, Docs. 19 and 20. 89 ‘Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 524, Appendix A.x.38. Santoro, ‘Un celebra “lettuccio”,’ 45. 90 Richard Trexler, Public Life in Renaissance Florence (London, 1980), 247; Jill Burke, Changing Patrons: Social Identity and the Visual Arts in Renaissance Florence (University Park, PA, 2004), 37. Welch, Shopping, 149–​51. An illumination from a manuscript of a market in Bologna displays beds for sale, providing an idea of what the da Maiano bottega might have looked like with items spilling out into the street (Matricola della società dei drappieri, 1411, Museo Civico Medievale, Bologna, MS Cod. Min. 641, 1R), see Jacqueline Marie Musacchio, Art, Marriage, and Family in the Florentine Renaissance Palace (New Haven, CT, 2008), 60, Fig. 57. 91 Quoted in Trexler, Public Life in Renaissance Florence, 247. 92 Burke, Changing Patrons, 38. 93 Appadurai, ‘Commodities and Politics,’ 38 and 41–​56. 94 John Kent Lydecker, ‘The Domestic Setting of the Arts in Renaissance Florence’ (PhD thesis, The John Hopkins University, 1987), 115–​16 n. 74. 95 ‘Sarà a Dio piacendo arivato e’ letucio e voi vistolo, e saravi stato Benedetto da Maiano e fatto il bisogno et aconc[i]‌olo insieme come à stare. Così s’atende e che sia piac[i]uto e chonosc[i]uto chome è stato qui, che invero è stato tenuto una bella cosa, come è, e ancho il pregio ve lo può mostrare, chè come visto arete, fiorini CX larghi al Maiano s’è avuto a paghare. Vedrassi le spese apunto vi si sarano fatto a meterassi al conto, avisate e diravisi. E voi arete fatto cho’ veturali el meglio arete potuto che, in vero, ci parse meglio rimeterne ala vostra discrezione…’ ASF, CS III, 133. 16, published in Borsook, ‘Documenti Strozzi,’ 14 n. 10. Also mentioned and published in del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 489. 96 Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 525 Appendix A.x. 39. 97 Leone, Giornale di Strozzi, 522. 98 ‘Ieri raviai la chorona e monte di diamante cho’ panni:  i’ lettuccio fu bello, e questo adornamento lo farà viepiù bello. Farà’la chonfichare bene, cioè la chorona, sopra l’arme, e la più bella pietra sia il dinanzi.’Transcribed in del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 489. Also see Santoro, ‘Un celebra “lettuccio”,’ 45. 99 Thornton, Italian Renaissance Interior, 120–​67.

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100 John Russell Sale, ‘An Iconographic Program by Marco Parenti,’ Renaissance Quarterly 27, no. 3 (1974): 293–​99. 101 Thornton, Italian Renaissance Interior, 148 and 153, Fig. 167. Thornton also provides another example of a lettuccio used as a throne in the Judgement Scene in the Story of Susanna and the Elders c.  1500 by the Master of Apollo and Daphne in the Art Institute of Chicago, 148, Fig. 163. Trionfi Honorati, ‘A proposito del “lettuccio”,’ 40. Lettucci, like beds of state could, as Mercer states be understood as quasi-​thrones, Eric Mercer, Furniture 700–​1700 (London, 1969), 74. For the importance of beds and daybeds and their multiple uses in the camera see Musacchio, Art, Marriage, and Family, 105–​15. 102 For cassoni see Caroline Campbell, Love and Marriage in Renaissance Florence: The Courtauld Wedding Chests (London, 2009); Anne B.  Barriault, Spalliera Paintings of Renaissance Tuscany: Fables of Poets for Patrician Homes (University Park, PA, 1994); Cristelle L. Baskins, Cassone Painting, Humanism and Gender in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, 1998); Christina Olsen, ‘Gross Expenditure: Botticelli’s Nastagio Degli Onesti Panels,’ Art History 15, no. 2 (1992): 136–​70. For the domestic interior see Erin J. Campbell, Stephanie R. Miller, and Elizabeth Carroll, The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 1400–​ 1700:  Objects, Spaces, Domesticities (Burlington, VT, 2013); Marta Ajmar-​Wollheim and Flora Dennis, eds., At Home in Renaissance Italy (London, 2006); Erin J. Campbell and Stephanie R. Miller, eds., The Cultural History of Furniture: The Middle Ages and Renaissance 500–​1500 (London, 2018). 103 Mimi Hellman, ‘Furniture, Sociability, and the Work of Leisure in Eighteenth-​Century France,’ Eighteenth-​Century Studies 32, no. 4 (1999): 424, 436. 104 Dario A.  Covi, ‘A Documented “Lettuccio” for the Duke of Calabria by Giuliano da Maiano,’ in Essays Presented to Myron P. Gilmore, ed. S. Bertelli and G. Ramakus (Firenze, Italy, 1978), 121; del Treppo, ‘Avventure,’ 498. 105 Covi, ‘Documented lettuccio,’ 121–​22. 106 Ibid., 122, 125, Doc. 1. 107 Ibid., 121. 108 On 16 February 1476 Benedetto Salutati and the heads of his associated companies, Lorenzo Strozzi, Francesco Nori, and Andrea Spannocchi hosted a banquet for Alfonso, Duke of Calabria and the other offspring of King Ferrante. Francesco Novati, ed. Epistolario di Coluccio Salutati, Vol. 4 Part 2, Fonti per la storia d’Italia (Rome, 1911), 420. Six months later on 24 July 1476, Giuliano da Maiano was paid for some work already done on the lettuccio through Salutati, Covi, ‘Documented lettuccio,’ 126, Doc. 2. 109 ASMO AP 637, 49V; ASMO AP 639, 153R. An inventory of 1489 lists a ‘tomarazo’ for the lettuccio in Eleonora’s room, describing it as a small tapestry, made of ‘raso alexandrine,’ which was sewn in Ferrara by Biagio del Bailo. ASMO AP 640, 155v. 110 Thornton, Italian Renaissance Interior, 149. Lydecker, ‘Domestic Setting,’ 115. Martin Kemp, Behind the Picture: Art and Evidence in the Italian Renaissance (New Haven, CT, and London, 1997), 141. 111 Lillie, Florentine Villas, 140. 112 Giuseppe Ceci, ‘Nuovi documenti su Giuliano da Maiano ed altri artisti,’ Archivio storico per le province napoletane xxix (1904): 784–​92. 113 Erasmo Percopo, ‘Nuovi documenti su gli scrittori e gli artisti dei tempi aragonesi,’ Archivio storico per le province napoletane XIX (1894): 577. 114 Percopo, ‘Nuovi documenti vol xix,’ 578, Doc. I. 115 Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 603–​4. 116 Ibid., 623. 117 Gaetano Filangieri, Documenti per la storia, le arte e industrie per le provincie napoletane raccolti e pubblicati: Effemeridi, Delle cose fatte per il duca di Calabria (1484–​91) di Joampiero Leostello da Volterra da un codice della Biblioteca Nazionale di Parigi, reprinted from 1883 ed., 6 vols.,Vol. 1 (Naples, 2002), LXXIV. 118 Giuliano employed many Florentine masons and builders to work on Poggioreale, as well as the Palazzo Como in Naples. Ceci, ‘Nuovi documenti,’ 785–​86; Antonio Colombo, ‘Il

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palazzo e il giardino di Poggioreale,’ Archivio storico per le province napoletane x (1885): 186–​ 209, 309–​42. 119 Santoro, ‘Un celebra “lettuccio”,’ 53 n. 39. 120 Pietro Cannata, Rilievi e placchette dal XV al XVIII secolo (Rome, 1982), 111–​27; Stanko Kokole, ‘The Silver Shrine of Saint Simeon in Zadar: Collecting Ancient Coins and Casts after the Antique in Fifteenth-​Century Dalmatia,’ in Collecting Sculpture in Early Modern Europe, ed. Nicholas Penny and Eike Schmidt (Washington, DC, London, and New Haven, CT, 2008), 111–​27; Leah R. Clark, ‘Collecting and Replicating Antiquities: Casts, Substitutions, and the Culture of the Copy in the Quattrocento,’ Journal of the History of Collections 28, no. 1 (2016): 171–​84; Marika Leino, Fashion, Devotion and Contemplation: The Status and Functions of Italian Renaissance Plaquettes (Oxford, 2013); Leah R. Clark, ‘Transient Possessions: Circulation, Replication, and Transmission of Gems and Jewels in Quattrocento Italy,’ Journal of Early Modern History 15, no. 3 (2011): 182–​221. 121 For the medallions see Ursula Wester and Erika Simon, ‘Die Reliefmedallions im Hofe des Palazzo Medici zu Florenz,’ Jahrbuch der Berliner Museen 7 (1965): 15–​92; Mariarita Casarosa Guadagni, ‘The Medici Collection of Gems during the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries,’ in Treasures of Florence:  The Medici Collection, 1400–​ 1700, ed. Cristina Acidini Luchinat (Munich and New York, 1997), 74. Francesco Caglioti, Donatello e i Medici: storia del David e della Giuditta (Florence, 2000). 122 Casarosa Guadagni,‘Medici Collection of Gems,’ 74.Also see Nicola Dacos,‘La fortuna delle gemme medicee nel Rinascimento,’ in Il tesoro di Lorenzo il Magnifico: Le gemme. Catalogo della Mostra Palazzo Medici Riccardi, ed. Nicole Dacos, Antonio Giuliano, and Ulrico Pannuti (Florence, 1973), 133–​62. Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 124–​28; Riccardo Gennaioli, ed. Pregio e bellezza: Cammei e intagli dei Medici (Livorno, Italy, 2010). 123 For the courtyard see Francis Ames-​Lewis, ‘Art History or Stilkritik? Donatello’s Bronze David Reconsidered,’ Art History 2, no. 2 (1979): 139–​55; Francis Ames-​Lewis, ‘Donatello’s Bronze David and the Palazzo Medici Courtyard,’ Renaissance Studies 3, no. 3 (1989): 235–​51; Sarah Blake McHam, ‘Donatello’s Bronze “David” and “Judith” as Metaphors of Medici Rule in Florence,’ The Art Bulletin 83, no. 1 (2001): 32–​47. 124 Ames-​Lewis, ‘Art History or Stilkritik?,’ 147; Blake McHam, ‘Donatello’s “David”,’ 42. This is also copied, with some alteration, on a bust of a young boy by Donatello in the Bargello, which might even be a copy of an entirely different gem. Wester and Simon, ‘Die Reliefmedallions im Hofe des Palazzo Medici zu Florenz,’ Fig. 32; Gennaioli, Pregio e bellezza, 14, Figs. 3 and 120, Cat. 33. 125 Giovanni Pontano, I libri delle virtù sociali, ed. Francesco Tateo (Rome, 1999), 239. Also see Evelyn S.  Welch, ‘Public Magnificence and Private Display:  Giovanni Pontano’s De Splendore (1498) and the Domestic Arts,’ Journal of Design History 15, no. 4 (2002): 216. 126 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 2. 127 Quotation and translation from Lorenzo’s Ricordi in Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 6 and 337, Doc. 204.The original is in the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence, Ms. II. IV. 309, 1-​2v. 128 Nicole Dacos, Antonio Giuliano, and Ulrico Pannuti, eds., Il tesoro di Lorenzo il Magnifico. Le gemme: Catalogo della Mostra Palazzo Medici Riccardi, Vol. I (Florence, 1973), 86, Docs. II and III. Also see Vespasiano Da Bisticci, Renaissance Princes, Popes and Prelates: The Vespasiano Memoirs: Lives of Illustrious Men of the XVth Century, ed. Myron P. Gilmore, trans. William George and Emily Waters (New York, Evanston, IL, and London, 1963), 399; Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 334–​36, Docs. 199–​203. Roberto Weiss, The Renaissance Discovery of Classical Antiquity (Oxford, 1973), 182–​83. 129 Da Bisticci, Renaissance Princes, 399. 130 Antonio Averlino Filarete, Trattato di Architettura, ed. Anna Maria Finoli and Liliana Grassi (Milan, 1972), 679. Lorenzo Ghiberti, The Commentaries (London, 1950), 34. Also see Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 335, Doc. 201; Dacos, Giuliano, and Pannuti, Tesoro di Lorenzo, 86, Doc. III.

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131 For the provenance of the gem see Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 247 n.  47. The intaglio now known as the Felix Gem in the Ashmolean was also in Paul II’s collection.This gem contains the same depiction of Diomedes and the Palladium but has a second figure of Odysseus at right. See Wendy Stedman Sheard, Antiquity in the Renaissance (Northampton, UK, 1979), Cat. 8. Clifford M. Brown, Laurie Fusco, and Gino Corti, ‘Lorenzo de’ Medici and the Dispersal of the Antiquarian Collections of Cardinal Francesco Gonzaga,’ Arte Lombarda 90/​91 (1989): 86, 88–​89. 132 Letter written 9 February 1495, found in ASMI, Autografi, Cesellatori 92, and published in Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 325, Doc. 171. 133 For the documents see, Dacos, ‘Fortuna delle gemme,’ 57. 134 Ibid., 160. 135 For a list of the copies see ibid. 136 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 127. 137 Ibid., 124. 138 Jardine, Worldly Goods, 143–​47; Jonathan J.  G. Alexander, ed. The Painted Page:  Italian Renaissance Book Illumination 1450–​1550 (London, 1994), 163–​76. 139 Jardine, Worldly Goods, 44. 140 Payments are recorded between April 1479 and March 1483 to the illuminator Monte di Giovanni for work on Pliny’s Naturalis Historia, now in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. Sale, ‘Strozzi Chapel,’ 39; Borsook, ‘Documenti Strozzi,’ 20, Appendix xii; Alexander, Painted Page, 175. 141 Alexander, Painted Page, 174–​75, Cat. 85. The frontispiece appears on folio 5R. 142 Kent, ‘Più superba,’ 311–​23. 143 Valencia, Biblioteca Historica, Universitat de Valencia, BH Ms. 384 (formerly 763); Alexander, Painted Page, 160, Cat. 76. 144 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 14. 145 Francesco Petrarch’s I trionfi, Walters Art Gallery, W.755.60R. Annarosa Garzelli, ed. Miniatura fiorentina del rinascimento, 1440–​1525: Un primo censimento (Florence, 1985), 75, 597, Fig. 972, 599, Fig. 974; Edith Wyss, The Myth of Apollo and Marsyas in the Art of the Italian Renaissance: An Inquiry into the Meaning of Images (Newark, NJ, and London, 1996), 46. 146 Alexander, Painted Page, 56, Cat. 3a. 147 Dacos, Giuliano, and Pannuti, Tesoro di Lorenzo, Fig. 88; Annarosa Garzelli, ‘L’ “Antico” nelle miniature dell’età di Lorenzo,’ in La Toscana al tempo di Lorenzo il Magnifico: politica, economia, cultura, arte: convegno di studi promosso dalle Università di Firenze, Pisa e Siena: 5–​8 novembre 1992, ed. Luigi Beschi (Pisa, Italy, 1996), 167; Péter Farbaky et al., eds., Matthias Corvinus, the King: Tradition and Renewal in the Hungarian Royal Court, 1458–​1490. Exhibition Catalogue (Budapest, 2008), 152–​53 and 158, Fig. 6. 148 Alexander, Painted Page, 56. 149 A few manuscripts previously thought to have been done by Attavanti have recently been attributed to Boccardino il Vecchio, one of which was commissioned by King Matthias (a work by Philostratus, now in Vienna). The double title page depicts the Marsyas gem in conjunction with roman imperial medals including that of Nero. Farbaky et al., Matthias Corvinus, 474, Cat. 11.14. 150 For some initial speculation, see Clark, ‘Transient Possessions,’ 218–​19. 151 Francesco Caglioti and Davide Gasparotto, ‘Lorenzo Ghiberti, il “Sigillo di Nerone” e le origini della placchetta “antiquaria”,’ Prospettiva 85 (1997): 2–​38; Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 124, 246 n. 45; Dacos, ‘Fortuna delle gemme,’ 145; Wyss, Apollo and Marsyas, 43–​6 0; Melissa Meriam Bullard and Nicolai Rubinstein, ‘Lorenzo de’ Medici’s Acquisition of the Sigillo di Nerone,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 62 (1999): 283–​86. For all the numerous variations of the gem across centuries (with reproduction of images) see Gennaioli, Pregio e bellezza, 124–​65, Cat. 35–​63. For the use of plaquettes in disseminating designs, see Marika Leino, ‘The Production, Collection and Display of Plaquette Reliefs in Renaissance Italy,’ in Depth of Field: Relief Sculpture in

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Renaissance Italy, ed. Donal Cooper and Marika Leino (Bern, Switzerland, 2007); Leino, Italian Renaissance Plaquettes, 251–​74; Maria Letizia Casanova Uccella, Rilievi e placchette dal XV al XVIII secolo (Rome, 1982). 152 ‘Ghiberti, Commentaries, 20–​21 (Libro II). Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 334, Doc. 200. 153 Filarete, Trattato di Architettura, 679. Contrary to Vasari who states the mount was done for Giovanni, son of Cosimo de’ Medici, most scholars believe it was indeed for Ludovico Trevisan, the Patriarch of Acquila. Caglioti and Gasparotto, ‘Ghiberti “Sigillo di Nerone”,’ 3. Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 246 n. 45. 154 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 246 n. 45; Caglioti and Gasparotto, ‘Ghiberti “Sigillo di Nerone”,’ 2–​38; Bullard and Rubinstein, ‘Lorenzo’s Acquisition,’ 283. 155 The letter is located in the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Fondo Ginori Conti, 29, 105, Fol. 11 and quoted in Bullard and Rubinstein, ‘Lorenzo’s Acquisition,’ 283–​86; Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 124 and Doc. 79, 299. Domenico di Piero sold jewels to various illustrious figures such as the Este, Pius II, and Lorenzo de’ Medici. 156 There are at least a dozen copies with Ghiberti’s inscription, Caglioti and Gasparotto, ‘Ghiberti “Sigillo di Nerone”,’ 9–​13, 30–​31, and a catalogue of copies, 14–​18. 157 Wyss, Apollo and Marsyas, 45. Two other medals from the 1450s portray derivatives of the gem with only the figure of Apollo, Caglioti and Gasparotto, ‘Ghiberti “Sigillo di Nerone”,’ Figs. 9–​12. 158 Wyss, Apollo and Marsyas, 45. 159 Ibid., 44, Fig. 17. 160 For seals in the graeco-​roman world,Verity Platt, ‘Making an Impression: Replication and the Ontology of the Graeco-​Roman Seal Stone,’ Art History 29, no.  2 (2006):  233–​57. For the medieval period see the numerous publications by Brigitte Bedos-​Rezak, such as Brigitte Bedos-​Rezak, Form and Order in Medieval France: Studies in Social and Quantitative Sigillography (Aldershot, UK, 1993). For an overview of seals (which also includes Bedos-​Rezak’s work) see Noël Adams, John Cherry, and James Robinson, eds., Good Impressions: Image and Authority in Medieval Seals (London, 2008). 161 Leino, ‘Plaquette Reliefs,’ 257; Leino, Italian Renaissance Plaquettes, 118, 243. 162 Bullard and Rubinstein, ‘Lorenzo’s Acquisition,’ 285–​86 n. 21. Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 301, Doc. 82. 163 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 301, Doc. 81–​82. Also see Clark, ‘Collecting and Replicating.’ 164 Two of these are in the Cabinet des Médailles in Paris, one in the Hermitage in Leningrad, and one in the Museo degli Argenti. One of the intaglios in Paris bears the inscription of LAV.R.MED but is presumed to be a sixteenth-​century copy. Caglioti and Gasparotto, ‘Ghiberti “Sigillo di Nerone”,’ 8, 14–​15, Figs. 15, 17, 18; Uccella, Rilievi e placchette dal XV al XVIII secolo, 42. Rambach believes he has found another ancient version of the Apollo and Marsyas, Hadrien Rambach, ‘Apollo and Marsyas on Engraved Gems and Medals,’ Jahrbuch für Numismatik und Geldgeschichte 61 (2011): 131–​57. 165 There are numerous illuminated manuscripts that contain copies of the gem, as well as copies in other media. For a list of copies see Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 246 n. 45. 166 Dacos, ‘Fortuna delle gemme,’ 145; Uccella, Rilievi e placchette dal XV al XVIII secolo, 41–​43. 167 The painting is now in the Groeninge Museum in Bruges. Wyss, Apollo and Marsyas, 60; Uccella, Rilievi e placchette dal XV al XVIII secolo, 42. 168 Another well-​known Medici gem, the centaur, as well as the reverse of a neronic medal appear on two of the other tondi. The carnelian also appears on the lower left plinth of the portal from the Palazzo Stanga in Cremona from the 1490s, now in the Louvre, in the form of a square rather than a tondo. Wyss, Apollo and Marsyas, 55–​57, Figs. 27–​29. Uccella, Rilievi e placchette dal XV al XVIII secolo, 41–​43. 169 Biblioteca Riccardiana, Florence, E.R. 428, Fol. 1v. Wyss, Apollo and Marsyas, 54. 170 Wyss, Apollo and Marsyas, 46. 171 See Chapter 1 for his involvement with the equestrian group.

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172 Quoted in Eva Helfenstein, ‘Lorenzo de’ Medici’s Magnificent Cups: Precious Vessels as Status Symbols in Fifteenth-​Century Europe,’ I Tatti Studies 16, no. 1/​2 (2013): 443. It has been suggested that the R might signify Rex, thus not only marking ownership but also making claims to a royal status that he did not officially have. Ulrico Pannuti, ‘Formazione, incremento e vicende dell’antica raccolta glittica medicea,’ in Il tesoro di Lorenzo il Magnifico: Le gemme. Catalogo della Mostra Palazzo Medici Riccardi, ed. Nicole Dacos, Antonio Giuliano, and Ulrico Pannuti (Florence, 1973), 14 n. 24. It has also been proposed that the R stands for ‘Rexque paterque’ the title Horace used for the great art patron Maecenas, Marina Belozerskaya, Luxury Arts of the Renaissance (Los Angeles, 2005), 59. 173 Luke Syson and Dora Thornton, Objects of Virtue:  Art in Renaissance Italy (Los Angeles, 2001), 86. 174 Weiss, Renaissance Discovery, 187. 175 Quotation and translation from Welch, ‘Public Magnificence,’ 214. 176 For Ippolita Sforza see Welch, ‘Between Milan,’ 123–​36; Judith Bryce, ‘Between Friends? Two Letters of Ippolita Sforza to Lorenzo de’ Medici,’ Renaissance Studies 21, no.  3 (2007): 340–​64; Judith Bryce, ‘ “Fa finire uno bello studio et dice volere studiare”: Ippolita Sforza and Her Books,’ Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance LXIV, no. 1 (2002): 55–​69; Diego Zancani, ‘Writing for Women Rulers in Quattrocento Italy: Antonio Cornazzano,’ in Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society, ed. Letizia Panizza (Oxford, 2000), 58–​ 63; Alfredo Baccelli, ‘Ippolita Sforza, Duchessa di Calabria,’ Rassegna nazionale Serie III. Vol XI (1930). For two contemporary biographies see Giovanni Sabadino degli Arienti, ‘De Hippolyta Sphorza, Duchessa di Calabria,’ in Gynevra de le clare donne, ed. C.  Ricci and A. Bacchi della Lega (Bologna, 1888), 332–​52; Jacobus Philippus Bergomensis Foresti, De plurimis claris sceletisque mulieribus BL: 167.h.17; G 1448; 1B.25751. (Ferrara, Italy: L. de Rubeis de Valentia, 1497), 159–​60. Some of her letters are also published in Ferdinando Gabotto, Lettere inedite di Joviano Pontano in nome de’ reali di Napoli (Bologna, 1893). 177 Ippolita, for instance, recited public orations to figures such as Pope Pius II and was well versed in the vernacular, Latin, and Greek. For her literary career see Margaret L. King and Albert Rabil, eds., Her Immaculate Hand:  Selected Works by the Women Humanists of Quattrocento Italy (Binghamton, NY, 1983), 45–​48. 178 This is evident in many letters from Milanese ambassadors in Naples back to Milan in ASMI SPE (Napoli). For a summary of these letters see Welch, ‘Between Milan.’ 179 Ibid., 125; Bryce, ‘Fa finire.’ 180 ASMI SPE 215, 232, from 25 October 1465 Antonio de Trezzo (also written de Tricio) to the Duke of Milan. 181 Welch, ‘Between Milan,’ 132. 182 Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 32, 398; Leone, Giornale di Strozzi, 315, 465. The only surviving evidence for the Neapolitan accounts (tesoreriere) are fragments located in the Archivio di Stato di Napoli. There are, however, contemporary inventories of the account books and a list of individuals paid, which offer an incomplete record, because they merely indicate the banks and sometimes the individuals who were paid, but without the details of the payment. Ippolita is listed as receiving her ‘provisione’ for October 1485, ASNA F, Inventario cedola tesorarie 1/​IV. 183 Pontieri, ‘Dinastia Aragonese,’ 290 n. 18. 184 ‘la dicta ducissa sia stata negligente circa quello tocca il honor et credito nostro.’ Quoted in ibid. 185 ASMI SPE 220 181. Letter of 19 February 1471, from Ippolita Sforza to Galeazzo Maria. ‘iiij.m ducati doro da la testa de v[ostra] ex[celentia] con una gratiosa et piacevole l[ette] ra de ditta sua Imagine prima macra et hora grassa […] e ver[issi]mo ne sia cresciuta vita gioventute fama reputatione gloria et cosi havendone prest[issi]mo advisata la M[aes]ta del S[ignor] Re. Lo ill[ustrissi]mo n[ost]ro consorte, il M[agnifi]co conte de Mattalone et  alcunj s[igno]ri et gentilhominj n[ost]ri ne sonno sta facte tante congratulatione con tanta festa et alegreza che no[n]‌fe potria explicare.’ Also see, Welch, ‘Between Milan,’ 132.

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186 ASMI SPE 220, 180 from Iacomo de Seremo. ‘la reputatione de v[ostra] i[lustrissima] s[ignoria] qui quanto ella se sia et tanto piu ciesere quanto vedeno la grand magnanimita[…] questa novela solamente manifestata ala M[aes]ta del S[ignor] Re et ali diti gentilhomini ma a tuto napoli in modo che credo ormay sia in tuta catalonia assay se ne dice in laud de v[ost]ra i[lustrissima] S[ignoria].’ 187 ASMI SPE 224, 115. 188 ASMI SPE 224, 168. A  letter from 28 July 1473 by the Milanese ambassador Francesco Maleta states that Ippolita and Alfonso had gone away for ten days, which reveals that Ippolita, after returning and still having not received news of the loan, decided to send a third letter. 189 ASMI SPE 225, 75 Letter of 18 March 1474. 190 For a summary of these letters see Welch, ‘Between Milan,’ 132–​34. Primary sources can be found in ASMI SPE 225 and 227. 191 For Ippolita’s relationship with Lorenzo see Bryce, ‘Between Friends.’ Some of the correspondence between Ippolita and Lorenzo is published in various volumes of Lorenzo’s letters edited by Fubini, Rubinstein, and Mallett, Lettere (Florence: Giunti, 1977). 192 Quoted in Welch, ‘Between Milan,’ 132. Also referenced in Rachele Magnani, Relazione private tra la corte Sforzesca di Milano e casa Medici, 1450–​1500 (Milan, 1910), 62. 193 For a reproduction of the agreement, ‘Procura di Lorenzo de’ Medici per Ippolita Maria d’Aragona Duchessa di Calabria e Niccolò Michelozzi’ see Medici, Lettere 1, 1, 373–​6, Appendix VII. For correspondence detailing the relationship, such as a request by Lorenzo to Ippolita for help in procuring gloves for his mistress, see Bryce, ‘Between Friends,’ 361–​62. 194 ASMI SPE 229, 48. Letter of 23 December 1479 from Petrus de Gallarate and Giovanni Angelus de Talentes to the Duke of Milan. ‘non essendo el M[agnifi]co Lorenzo nel suo logiamento per essere andat a visitare al Ill[ustrissi]ma du[chessa] de Calabria.’ On 23 December 1479 the Ferrarese ambassador wrote to Ercole d’Este also reporting that Lorenzo de’ Medici was with the Duchess of Calabria for ‘gran tempo.’ ASMO AMB NAP 1, Letter 13.12, from Nicolaus Sadoletus in Naples to Ercole d’Este, Duke of Ferrara, 23 December 1473. 195 Medici, Lettere 1, 1, 224 n. 9, letter 497. 196 For the sour relations between Naples and Florence see Chapter  1 on the horse’s head and Butters, ‘Lorenzo and Naples,’ 147. For the leaking of confidential information see, Medici, Lettere 1, 1, letter 497, specifically 229 n. 15 and 256 n. 9. Also see Welch, ‘Between Milan,’ 132. 197 ASMI SPE 232 and 233. 198 ‘una cosa voglio scriver[e]‌a v[ostra] S[ignoria] ch[e] gia piu di ho alduta dire e mai no[n] lho creduta ch[e] e ch[e] questo S[ignor] Re no[n] ha dinari[…] p[er]ch[e] lamb[ascia] tri de Luca ch[e] fu qui m[isser] Zohe Giudozani me dixe ch[e]l era cosa certa…’ ASMO AMB NAP 1. Letter 13.71, 3 August 1480, Nicolo Saldoleto to Ercole d’Este. 199 ASMI SPE 232, 2 from 26 December 1480. 200 Corrado Catello and Elio Catello, L’Oreficeria a Napoli nel XV secolo (Napoli, 1975), 28. 201 ‘Como per altre mie ho scripto replico che li turchi sonno in otranto stanno durissimi et non fanno demonstratione alcuna volerse revolere: inno ogni torno signi non solo volerse deffendere et fare ultima prova de la loro fortuna ma de morire prima d[i]‌che lassare quella terra. […] che sara necessario sostenere questo s[ignor] Re per la v[ostra] ex[cellenti]a & collgiati soy de novi subsidj secondo gia ha rechiesto per tre volte q[ua]n[do] senza quelli manco potra infertur i[n] sostenere la grande et intolerabile spesa: ha in mantenere exercito et armata ch[e] lha che habij possuto per lo passato: perche como per altre mie v.s. havera inteso ha impegnate lintrate: zoye & argenti soy della regina e della Duchessa de Calabria et de tuta casa soa fino alla libraria: havendo mo v.s. sostento la spesa ha fino qui.’ ASMI SPE 233. Again, on 30 June 1481 Marco Trotti reports that the Neapolitan crown has to pawn the tapestries and library. The perilous state of the king’s finances during the baron’s revolt

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is recounted by Vespasiano da Bisticci in his biography of Antonio Cincinello, Da Bisticci, Renaissance Princes, 343–​44. 202 Transcribed in Tommaro de Marinis, La biblioteca napoletana dei Re d’Aragona, Vol. II (Milan, 1947), 187–​ 92, Inventario A.  For the original, see BNP, MS. Nouvelles Acquisitions lat. 1986 203 de Marinis, Bib. Nap., II, 187–​92, Inventario A. 204 Ibid., 190. 205 Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN X,’ 26–​27. 206 Appadurai, ‘Commodities and Politics,’ 26. 207 Leah R. Clark, ‘Dispersal, Exchange and the Culture of Things in Fifteenth-​Century Italy,’ in The Agency of Things in Medieval and Early Modern Art: Materials, Power and Manipulation, ed. Grażyna Jurkowlaniec, Ika Matyjaszkiewicz, and Zuzanna Sarnecka (London, 2017), 77–​88. 208 Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN X,’ 36–​38; Belozerskaya, Luxury Arts, 81–​83. 209 Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN X,’ 36–​37. 210 Camillo Minieri Riccio,‘Alcuni fatti di Alfonso I di Aragona dal 15 aprile 1437 al 31 maggio 1458,’ Archivio storico per le province napoletane VI (1881): 434. 211 Adrian Randolph, ‘Performing the Bridal Body in Fifteenth-​Century Florence,’ Art History 21, no. 2 (1998): 182–​200; Tessa Storey, ‘Fragments from the “Life Histories” of Jewellery Belonging to Prostitutes in Early-​Modern Rome,’ in The Biography of the Object in Late Medieval and Renaissance Italy, ed. Roberta J.  M. Olson, Patricia L.  Reilly, and Rupert Shepherd (Oxford, 2006), 67–​77; Timothy McCall, ‘Brilliant Bodies: Material Culture and the Adornment of Men in North Italy’s Quattrocento Courts,’ I Tatti Studies:  Essays in the Renaissance 16 (2013): 445–​90; Evelyn S. Welch, ‘Women in Debt: Financing Female Authority in Renaissance Italy,’ in Donne di potere nel Rinascimento, ed. Letizia Arcangeli and Susanna Peyronel (Rome, 2008), 53. 212 ASMO AMB MIL 3, 241–​42. The letter is dated 22 September 1479. 213 Naming jewels was not an invention of the Quattrocento. The practice is evident in the medieval period and not just in Europe but also in the Islamic context, see Avinoam Shalem, ‘Jewels and Journeys: The Case of the Medieval Gemstone Called al-​Yatima,’ Muqarnas 14 (1997): 42–​56. 214 The original document is said to be now lost, for the transcription see Paola Venturelli, Glossario e documenti per la gioielleria Milanese (1459–​1631) (Florence and Milan, 1999), 157, Doc. 26. Also see McCall, ‘Brilliant Bodies,’ 459. 215 Filena Patroni Griffi, Banchieri e gioielli alla corte aragonese di Napoli (Naples, 1984), 13; Silvestri, ‘Attività bancaria,’ 83. 216 Griffi, Banchieri, 14. 217 The literature is large, but for magical properties of stones and lapidaries, see Joan Evans, Magical Jewels of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance (New York, 1922); Marsilio Ficino, Three Books on Life: A Critical Edition and Translation with Introduction and Notes, ed. Carol V. Kaske and John R. Clark (Binghamton, NY, 1989); John M. Riddle, ed., Marbode of Rennes’ (1035–​ 1123) De Lapidibus (Wiesbaden, Germany, 1977); James A. Weisheipl, ed., Albertus Magnus and the Sciences: Commemorative Essays, 1980 (Toronto, 1980). 218 Helfenstein, ‘Lorenzo’s Magnificent Cups,’ 432. 219 Griffi, Banchieri, 20–​21. From ASF CS 47, 99. 220 Brown, Fusco, and Corti, ‘Lorenzo and Dispersal,’ 92–​93. 221 Griffi, Banchieri, 20. 222 Jacoviello, ‘Affari,’ 180. 223 Abulafia, ‘Crown and Economy,’ 136. 224 Griffi, Banchieri, 20. 225 Brown, ‘Death of a Record-​Keeper,’ 37 n. 30. 226 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 6. Also see Chapter 1. 227 Jacqueline Marie Musacchio, ‘The Medici Sale of 1495 and the Second-​Hand Market for Domestic Goods in Late Fifteenth-​Century Florence,’ in The Art Market in Italy: 15th–​17th

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Centuries/​Il mercato dell’arte in Italia secc. XV–​XVII, ed. Marcello Fantoni, Louisa C. Matthew, and Sara F. Matthews-​Grieco (Ferrara, Italy, 2003), 313–​23. 228 Luca Landucci, for instance, mentioned the sale three times in his zibaldone, noting it was a sign of God’s punishment for excessive pride. Welch, Shopping, 195. 229 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 128. For Alfonso I’s ownership, see Iasiello, Collezionismo di antichità, 20–​21. 230 Welch, Shopping, 197–​98. 231 ASMO CPE 1623.2, letter from Beatrice d’Aragona to Eleonora d’Aragona, 20 February 1488. 232 The letters and copy dispatches are found in ASMO AMB NAP 6 –​the letters are not numbered. 233 ASMO CPE 1247/​3, Letter of 28 May 1488. I have not been able to find any references in the account books to the purchase, but on 3 April 1487 Giuliano Gondi is recorded in Eleonora’s accounts being paid 500 ducati for a balas cross. This seems a too early for Ippolita’s cross because Ippolita wrote in May 1488 and it likely would have been paid from Ercole’s accounts; however, the price is exactly the same. The record of the purchase is in ASMO AP 633, 73V: ‘E ad dite (3 aprile[1487])…per sua s[ignoria] a bonaventura di mosto gtp [(conto)] per alty tante gpt [(conto)] pago fino ad 25 di genaro per sua s[ignoria] a zuliano gond[i]‌per Rp˚ [(resto)] d fp 500 d[ucati] d[oro] per lo prezio di una croxe di balas date a sua s[ignoria].’ 234 Patricia Simons, ‘Women in Frames:  The Gaze, the Eye, the Profile in Renaissance Portraiture,’ in The Expanding Discourse:  Feminism in Art History, ed. Norma Broude and Mary D. Garrard (Boulder, CO, 1992), 44. 235 ASMO AMB NAP 6, Letter of 23 July 1488 from Eleonora d’Aragona to Battista Bendedei. 236 ASMO AMB NAP 6, Letter of 22 August 1488, Eleonora d’Aragona to Battista Bendedei, 1R. 237 ‘ve respondemo che come obediente fiola havemo acceptato il recordo & admonitione[…] comprassemo etia’ p[er]ch[e]‌la no[n] andassae a mane de altri mercadanti.’ ASMO AMB NAP 6, Letter of 22 August 1488, Eleonora d’Aragona to Battista Bendedei, 1R. 238 In 1490 Galiotto is recorded sending 6 Greek coins from Naples to Lorenzo. Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 16, 20, 148, and Doc. 131 and Doc. 148. Ilardi, ‘Towards the Tragedia,’ 112 n. 73. 239 Letter of 22 August 1488, Eleonora to Battista Bendedei. 240 Eleonora would have probably relied on her close relation and former tutor, Diomede Carafa to obtain information, but he had already died in April 1487. 241 ASMO AMB NAP 5. 53. 242 ‘rimetteremola ne le mane de Zuliano Gondi come anche ni e sta richiesto & faremolo voluntiera p[er] obedire sua M[aes]ta et come e dicto se la mi fusse domandata p[er] altro modo amorevole come si co[n]‌viene tra fradelo & sorella.’ Letter of 22 August 1488, Eleonora to Battista Bendedei, 1R. 243 ‘& ch[e]‌anchora la ni fusse sta domandata in dono […] & anch[e] el dirati a Sua M[aes]ta ch[e] gia spendessemo tresento ducati in vedri per dare al S.re duca.’ 244 ‘& no[n]‌volemo p[er] niente che Sua Ex[celen]tia si persuada ni creda ch[e] la rediamo p[er] paura ne p[er] minazo, che quando la se havesse a rendere p[er] tal modo piu presto la getaressemo in po & la romperessemo in cento pezi.’ 245 ASMO AMB NAP 6, Letter of 25 August 1488, Eleonora to Battista Bendedei. 246 ‘crocetta, ch[e]‌fo dela bona memoria dela Quón Ill[ustrissi]ma Duchessa n[ost]ra Consorte.’ ASMO CPE 1246/​2, Letter of 5 September 1488. 247 Pontieri, ‘Dinastia Aragonese,’ 341 n 83. See ASF MAP, filza 45, 241R. 248 ASMO AMB NAP 6, Letter of 15 January 1487, Eleonora to Battista Bendedei. 249 ASMO AMB NAP 6, Letter of 20 July 1488, Eleonora to Battista Bendedei. 250 Krzysztof Pomian, Collectionneurs, amateurs, et curieux. Paris, Venise: XVIe-​XVIIIe siècle (Paris, 1987), 12–​13 and 30–​53.

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2 51 Kopytoff, ‘Cultural Biography of Things,’ 73–​76. 252 Spencer’s translation, John R. Spencer, ed. Filarete’s Treatise on Architecture. Being the Treatise by Antonio di Piero Averlino, Known as Filarete,Vol. 1: The Translation (New Haven, CT, and London, 1965), 317. 253 Findlen, ‘Possessing the Past.’ 3  INTERTEXTUALITY AND COLLECTION AT THE COURT OF FERRARA

1 ‘Heri la mo[n]‌strete tute le zoglie ch[e] la al s. ch[e] certame[nte] sono cosse extupende e qui la ne feri mostrari cosse assai come fu molti sancti de oro massizo no[n] p[er]o tropo grandi e altri animali tuti doro ch[e] valeno assai meglione de ducati et hozi la ne dele fare vedre le medaie ch[e] e la figura sua e del duca galeazo ch[e] li son antro p[e] cadauna dici milia ducati e dice ch[e] la ne ha dicti de queste si ch[e] queste sono cosse grande e da gran signori se vedesti xij ca[n]deleri de argento grandi piu ch[e] no[n] sono quasi dui homini e grosissimj e da poi octo sancti di argento assai grande e una croze e altri candelerei ch[e] seno suso lo altaro no[n] vedesti nimi la piu digna e honorevole cosse e questi co[n] tinuame[n]te sono stati in la capella dove olde il. S messe cantata ogni die.’ ASMO AMB MIL 3, 242, September 1479. For more on the Spigo see Chapter 2. 2 ‘Ando po[i]‌a vedere la camera dove stava cosmo conducta i[n] milgiore fo[r]ma dove erano libri et piere preziosa molto solene. Ando poj nela sala vete q[ue]lle for[z]e d’ hercule tuti come[n]do poij i[n]tro ne la camera fu di piero et gi la mostro et q[ue]llo cortile co[n] za[r]dino di sopra e solaro co[m] q[ue]lla lozeta et d[i] q[ue]sta cam[er]a e mo[n]stroi la sua capella poi e[n]tro nel studio pure d[e]la camera fu de piero et q mo[n]stro p[ri]ma el dicto studio cu[m] ta[n]te copie d[i] libri g era una cossa stupe[n]da tute digni scripti cu[m] pena poi tornamo pire soto q[ue]lla lozeta li d[i] dicta cam[er]a et i[n] su una tavola li fece venire le sue zoie ch[e] erano vasi bochali co[n]fetiere d[e] p[e]de fornite de ch[e] erano d[i] diese p[un]to masseri d altre. Eraci uno bichiero di cristallo fo[r]nito co[m] el cop[er] to e uno pied[e] arze[n]to erali ligate p[er]le d[i] co[n]to rubini e diama[n]ti e altre p[re]de. Una schudella scholpita de[n]tre d[i] ta[n]te varie figure ch[e] era una cosa digrafu reputata d[i] valuta d[i] quatromilia ducati poi li fece po[r]tare dui bacile gra[n]de pieri d[i] mediae a[n]tique de uno d[e] medaie d[i] oro et laltro per d[i] medaie d[i] a[r]ze[n]to poi una careta co[m] molte zoie anelle e latre prede i[n]taiato.’ ASMO AMB FIR 2, 21 August 1480. My translation. Also see Campbell, Cabinet of Eros, 30; Syson and Thornton, Objects of Virtue, 81–​82; Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 322-​2, Doc. 163. 3 Quotation and translation from Dora Thornton, The Scholar in His Study: Ownership and Experience in Renaissance Italy (New Haven, CT, and London, 1997), 113. 4 ‘una anchoneta che se assera a modo di libro coperta di veluto morello cum broche e azulli di argento dorati da un lato il persepio e dal altro un christo nel sepolchro.’ ASMO G114,133V. Also see Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara, II.II, 37; Giuseppe Campori, Raccolta di cataloghi ed inventarii inediti di quadri, statue, disegni, bronzi, dorerie, smalti, medaglie, avori, ecc. dal secolo xv al secolo xix (Modena, Italy, 1870), 2. The painting is often referred to as the ‘Este Diptych’ but as it belonged to Eleonora d’Aragona, I prefer to refer to it as the Roberti diptych. For the diptych, see the catalogue entries in Manca, Art of Ercole, 143–​45, Cat. 22; Denise Allen et  al., ‘Catalogue. Ercole de’ Roberti:  The Renaissance in Ferrara. Special Supplement,’ Burlington Magazine CXLI, no. 1153 (1999): xxxvi–​xxxvii, Cats. IXa and IXb; Monica Molteni, Ercole de’ Roberti (Milan, 1995), Cat. 29. For a technical analysis see Lorne Campbell et al., ‘Two Panels by Ercole de’ Roberti and the Identification of “veluto morello”,’ The National Gallery Technical Bulletin 22, no. 1 (2001): 29–​42. The panels have been dated between 1490 and 1493 by Joseph Manca as well as by the curators at the National Gallery. Manca, Art of Ercole, 144–​46, Cat. 22; Allen et al., ‘Catalogue,’ xxxvi. This dating is based on stylistic evidence and in relation to the later dates that Ercole was working on Eleonora’s apartments. While this could be the case, there are also documents relating to 1486, when Ercole was also active on projects for the duchess. The first document from

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21 August 1486 registers a payment to Ercole de’ Roberti for ultramarine blue for work on a ‘quadreto.’ ASMO AP 633, 48V. Also see Manca, Art of Ercole, 196, Doc. 7. Two months later Ercole is recorded receiving payment for ‘fornimenti d’argento’ for a ‘quadreto,’ which could relate to the silver clasps for the diptych. ASMO AP 633, 49V. Also transcribed in Manca, Art of Ercole, 196, Doc. 8.  Manca suggests that these payments are regarding a Madonna and Child now in Ferrara. 5 The literature on Ferrara is large, select publications include Gundersheimer, Ferrara; Luciano Chiappini, ed., Gli Estensi a Ferrara e Modena (Rome, 1994); Edmund Garratt Gardner, Dukes and Poets in Ferrara: A Study of the Poetry, Religion and Politics of the Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Centuries (London, 1904); Roberta Iotti, ed., Gli Estensi:  La Corte di Ferrara (Modena, Italy, 1997); Alessandra Molfino Mottola, Mauro Natala, and Andrea di Lorenzo, Le Muse e il principe:  Arte di corte nel Rinascimento padano, Vol. I  (Modena, Italy, 1991); Charles Rosenberg, The Este Monuments and Urban Development in Renaissance Ferrara (Cambridge, 1997); Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara; Paolo Rossi, ed., Il rinascimento nelle corti padane: Società e cultura (Bari, Italy, 1977); Jadranka Bentini, ed., Gli Este a Ferrara: Una corte nel rinascimento (Milan, 2004); Tristano, ‘Ferrara and New Nobility’; Dennis Looney and Deanna Shemek, eds., Phaethon’s Children: The Este Court and Its Culture in Early Modern Ferrara (Tempe, AZ, 2005); Anthony Colantuono, ‘Estense Patronage and the Construction of the Ferrarese Renaissance, c.  1395–​1598,’ in The Court Cities of Northern Italy:  Milan, Parma, Piacenza, Mantua, Ferrara, Bologna, Urbino, Pesaro, and Rimini, ed. Charles Rosenberg (Cambridge, 2010), 196–​243. 6 Tristano, ‘Ferrara and New Nobility.’ 7 Gundersheimer, Ferrara, 175–​76. 8 Her Eleonora’s political activity, see Werner Gundersheimer, ‘Women, Learning, and Power: Eleonora of Aragon and the Court of Ferrara,’ in Beyond Their Sex: Learned Women of the European Past, ed. Patricia H.  Labalme (New  York, 1980), 43–​65; Jessica O’Leary, ‘Politics, Pedagogy, and Praise:  Three Literary Texts Dedicated to Eleonora d’Aragona, Duchess of Ferrara,’ I Tatti Studies 19, no. 2 (2016): 285–​307. For a general overview of her life see, Luciano Chiappini, Eleonora d’Aragona, prima duchessa di Ferrara (1956). For her relationship with Ercole, see Diana Bryant, ‘Affection and Loyalty in an Italian Dynastic Marriage’ (PhD thesis, University of Sydney, 2012). 9 Trevor Dean, ‘Commune and Despot: The Commune of Ferrara under Este Rule, 1300–​ 1450,’ in City and Countryside in Late Medieval and Renaissance Italy: Essays Presented to Philip Jones, ed. Trevor Dean and Chris Wickham (London and Ronceverte, WV, 1990), 183–​97. 10 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara; Adriano Prosperi, ‘Le istituzioni ecclesiastiche e le idee religiose,’ in Il rinascimento nelle corti padane: Società e cultura, ed. Paolo Rossi (Bari, Italy, 1977), 125–​64. 11 Lewis Lockwood, ‘Music and Popular Religious Spectacle at Ferrara under Ercole I d’Este,’ in Il teatro italiano del Rinascimento, ed. Maristella de Panizza Lorch (Milan, 1980), 571–​82. 12 The Latin text has never been fully translated. For translated sections and commentaries see Michael Baxandall, ‘A Dialogue on Art from the Court of Leonello d’Este:  Angelo Decembrio’s De Politia Litteraria Pars LXVIII,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 26, no.  3/​4 (1963):  304–​36; Michael Baxandall, ‘Angelo Decembrio’s De Politia Litteraria Part LXVIII,’ in Words for Pictures: Seven Papers on Renaissance Art and Criticism, ed. Michael Baxandall (New Haven, CT, and London, 2003), 39–​67; Anthony Grafton, Commerce with the Classics: Ancient Books and Renaissance Readers (Ann Arbor, MI, 1997), 11–​52; Jon Pearson Perry, ‘A Fifteenth-​Century Dialogue on Literary Taste: Angelo Decembrio’s Account of Playwright Ugolino Pisani at the Court of Leonello d’Este,’ Renaissance Quarterly 39, no. 4 (1986): 613–​35; Christopher S. Celenza,‘Creating Canons in Fifteenth-​Century Ferrara: Angelo Decembrio’s “De politia litteraria”,’ Renaissance Quarterly 1, no. 10 (2004): 43–​98. 13 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 18. 14 Baxandall, ‘Dialogue on Art’; Baxandall, ‘Decembrio’s De Politia.’ For the figure of Ugolino Pisani see Perry, ‘Fifteenth-​Century Dialogue.’

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15 There have been more nuanced readings of The Courtier, for example, Stephen Kolsky, ‘Before the Nunciature:  Castiglione in Fact and Fiction,’ in Courts and Courtiers in Renaissance Northern Italy (Aldershot, UK, 2003), 332–​ 57; Wayne A.  Rebhorn, Courtly Performance: Masking and Festivity in Castiglione’s Book of the Courtier (Detroit, MI, 1978). 16 Stephen Campbell, ‘Cosmè Tura and Court Culture,’ in Cosmè Tura: Painting and Design in Renaissance Ferrara, ed. Stephen Campbell and Alan Chong, Exhibition Catalogue, Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, 30 January –​12 May 2002 (Boston, 2002), 12–​13. 17 Celenza, ‘Creating Canons in Ferrara,’ 56. 18 Campbell, ‘Pictura,’ 267–​95. 19 Tristano, ‘Ferrara and New Nobility,’ esp. 194–​205; Campbell, ‘Pictura,’ 270. 20 Brown, ‘Death of a Record-​ Keeper,’ 9 and 34–​ 35 n.  19; Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 11. 21 Campbell, ‘Pictura,’ 269. 22 Ibid., 270; Tristano, ‘Ferrara and New Nobility.’ 23 Leatrice Mendelsohn, Paragoni: Benedetto Varchi’s Due Lezzioni and Cinquecento Art Theory, Vol. 6 (Ann Arbor, MI, 1982), 38. Also see Claire J. Farago, Leonardo da Vinci’s Paragone: A Critical Interpretation with a New Edition of the Text in the Codex Urbinas (Leiden, The Netherlands, 1992). 24 Campbell, ‘Cosmè Tura and Court Culture,’ 13. 25 Perry, ‘Fifteenth-​Century Dialogue,’ 631. 26 This is elaborated in Campbell, ‘Pictura.’ 27 Quoted in Baxandall, ‘Decembrio’s De Politia,’ 54. 28 Ibid., 64–​66. 29 Quoted in Anthony Grafton, Worlds Made by Words: Scholarship and Community in the Modern West (Cambridge, 2009), 38. 30 Campbell, ‘Pictura,’ 275; Leon Battista Alberti, On Painting, trans. Cecil Grayson (London, 1991), Book 2, 80–​83. 31 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara. 32 Campbell, ‘Pictura,’ 276–​77. 33 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 24; Campbell, ‘Cosmè Tura and Court Culture,’ 12; Luke Syson, ‘Tura and the “Minor Arts”:  The School of Ferrara,’ in Cosmè Tura:  Painting and Design in Renaissance Ferrara, ed. Stephen Campbell and Alan Chong (Boston, 2002), 51–​52. 34 Arienti, triumphis religionis, 64. 35 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 30. 36 Campbell, Cabinet of Eros; San Juan, ‘Court Lady’s Dilemma,’ 67–​78. 37 Thornton, The Scholar, 90. 38 Asch, ‘Court and Household,’ 1–​38. 39 Thornton, The Scholar; Paula Findlen, Possessing Nature:  Museums, Collecting and Scientific Culture in Early Modern Italy (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London, 1994); Pomian, Collectors; Campbell, Cabinet of Eros, 29–​57. 40 Campbell, Cabinet of Eros, 40–​41. 41 Arienti, triumphis religionis, 25. Also see Shepherd, ‘Sabadino degli Arienti,’ 25. For the garden apartments, see Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 104–​15. 42 Paula Findlen, ‘The Museum: Its Classical Etymology and Renaissance Genealogy,’ Journal of the History of Collections 1, no. 1 (1989): 60. For Isabella’s grotta and studiolo see Campbell, Cabinet of Eros. 43 Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 98–​114; Marco Folin, ‘La corte della duchessa: Eleonora d’Aragona a Ferrara,’ in Donne di potere nel Rinascimento, ed. Letizia Arcangeli and Susanna Peyronel (Rome, 2008), 481–​512.There is some confusion in the literature between the garden of the Corte (Ercole’s) and the garden of the Castello (Eleonora’s). For clarification, see Thomas Tuohy,‘Rescuing Ferrara: Ercole de’ Roberti and Art Historians,’ Apollo 137 (1993): 199–​200. 44 Eleonora’s account books survive and demonstrate that she oversaw all the commissions and payments. See, for example, ASMO AP 633, 634, 637, 639, 640. Some of these accounts are

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published in a two-​volume work by Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara. The accounts relating to Ercole de’ Roberti’s work are also published in Manca, Art of Ercole. 45 See the appendix for transcriptions of her collections. The inventory taken after Eleonora’s death in 1493 (ASMO G114) is partially published in Campori, Cataloghi ed inventarii, 1–​3. It is also partially transcribed in Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara, II.II, 35, Doc. 17. Inventories of her items also appear in AP 640, partly transcribed in Adriano Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara in età umanistica e rinascimentale: Testimonianze archivistiche,Vol. II.I (Ferrara, 1995), 409, Doc. 597 bis. Another inventory of Eleonora’s goods is in Ercole’s account books, recording both Ercole’s and Eleonora’s possessions separately, AP 30. 46 Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 410 Doc. 12, h; Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara, II.I, 339, Doc. 489aa. ASMO M&F 20.134. Maineri, often referred to as ‘Zoanne Francesco di Parma’ in documents, was paid for a number of different commissions. In 1489 he was paid for work done in the garden apartments of Eleonora, ASMO AP 633,170V. In 1492, Maineri is recorded painting images of Saint Augustine and Saint Francis for an oratory of the duchess, ASMO AP 637, 74V. In August 1493 he was paid for a ‘quadreto dorato’ ASMO AP 634, 41V and 43R. 47 Her collection of porcelain is part of a larger forthcoming study I’m currently undertaking. 48 See, for instance, AP 633, which lists a number of gifts to individuals such as Alfonso d’Aragona in Naples, Beatrice d’Aragona in Hungary, the Pope in Rome, among others. 49 See Appendix ASMO G114, 133V; 134R. 50 See Appendix ASMO G114, 133V. Also published in Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara, II.II, 37; Campori, Cataloghi ed inventarii, 2. 51 See Appendix ASMO AP 30, 45R. 52 See Appendix ASMO AP 30, 47R, 48V. 53 See Appendix ASMO AP 30, 48V. Saint George was the patron saint of Ferrara and would have carried ecclesiastical, religious, and political importance. Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, ch. 5, 131–​61. 54 The portrait is now in the Metropolitan Museum, New York. Ernst Kantorowicz, ‘The Este Portrait by Roger Van Der Weyden,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 3 (1939–​ 40): 165–​80; Nuttall, From Flanders, 3. 55 The religious images are listed in the first section of the inventory of ASMO AP 30. An inventory taken in 1494 lists many of the items that had once belonged to Eleonora, and now appear to be the property of Ercole, see ASMO G117.The double portrait of the Duke and Duchess of Milan is possibly the same double portrait that Borso D’Este, Ercole’s predecessor, had commissioned from Baldassare d’Este in the early 1470s, originally in the Palazzo Schifanoia. Lorne Campbell, Renaissance Portraits: European Portrait-​Painting in the 14th, 15th and 16th Centuries (New Haven, CT, and London, 1990), 54. ASMO AP 30, 35V. Also listed in G117, 55V. 56 Dagmar Eichberger, ‘Devotional Objects in Book Format: Diptychs in the Collection of Margaret of Austria and Her Family,’ in The Art of the Book: Its Place in Medieval Worship, ed. Margaret M. Manion and Bernard J. Muir (Exeter, UK, 1998), 291. 57 Victor M.  Schmidt, ‘Diptychs and Supplicants:  Precedents and Contexts of Fifteenth-​ Century Devotional Diptychs,’ in Essays in Context:  Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych, ed. John Oliver Hand and Ron Spronk (Cambridge, New Haven, CT, and London, 2006), 15–​16. 58 Laura Gelfand, ‘Fifteenth-​Century Netherlandish Devotional Portrait Diptychs: Origins and Function’ (PhD thesis, Case Western Reserve University, 1994); John Oliver Hand, Catherine A. Metzger, and Ron Spronk, eds., Prayers and Portraits: Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych (Washington, DC, New Haven, CT, and London, 2006); John Oliver Hand and Ron Spronk, eds., Essays in Context: Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych (Cambridge, New Haven, CT, and London, 2006); Sixten Ringbom, Icon to Narrative: The Rise of the Dramatic Close-​up in Fifteenth-​Century Devotional Painting (Doornspijk, The Netherlands, 1984); David Alan Brown et  al., Virtue and Beauty:  Leonardo’s Ginevra de’

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Benci and Renaissance Portraits of Women (Washington, DC, 2001); John Pope-​Hennessy, The Portrait in the Renaissance (Princeton, NJ, and Washington, DC, 1979), ch. 5; Campbell, Renaissance Portraits, 53–​67. 59 Hugo van der Velden, ‘Diptych Altarpieces and the Principle of Dextrality,’ in Essays in Context:  Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych, ed. John Oliver Hand and Ron Spronk (Cambridge, New Haven, CT, and London, 2006), 125. 60 Andrea G.  Pearson, ‘Personal Worship, Gender, and the Devotional Portrait Diptych,’ Sixteenth Century Journal 21, no. 1 (2000): 118–​19. 61 Norman E.  Land, ed. The Samuel H.  Kress Study Collection at the University of Missouri (Columbia, MO, 1999), 41–​43. 62 Eichberger, ‘Devotional Objects,’ 300–​ 1; Pearson, ‘Personal Worship,’ 101; Andrea G.  Pearson, ‘Margaret of Austria’s Devotional Portrait Diptychs,’ Woman’s Art Journal 22, no. 2 (2001–​2): 19–​26. 63 Pearson, ‘Personal Worship,’ 99–​122. 64 Maximiliaan P.  J. Martens, ‘Some Reflections on the Social Function of Diptychs,’ in Essays in Context:  Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych, ed. John Oliver Hand and Ron Spronk (Cambridge, New Haven, CT, and London, 2006), 85–​91; Marina Belozerskaya, ‘Early Netherlandish Diptychs as Surrogate Luxuries,’ in Essays in Context:  Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych, ed. John Oliver Hand and Ron Spronk (Cambridge, New Haven, CT, and London, 2006), 61–​71. 65 Jean le Tavernier, Philip the Good at Mass, c. 1460. Manuscript illumination from Traité sur l’Oraison Dominicale, MS 9092, Fol. 9r, Brussels, Bibliothèque Royale Albert Ier. Belozerskaya, ‘Early Netherlandish Diptychs,’ 64; Pearson, ‘Personal Worship,’ 120; Schmidt, ‘Diptychs and Supplicants,’ 24–​25; Ringbom, Icon to Narrative, 31–​32. 66 Pearson, ‘Personal Worship,’ 104. 67 Laura Gelfand, ‘The Devotional Portrait Diptych and the Manuscript Tradition,’ in Essays in Context:  Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych, ed. John Oliver Hand and Ron Spronk (Cambridge, New Haven, CT, and London, 2006), 48. 68 Kurt Barstow, The Gualenghi-​d’Este Hours:  Art and Devotion in Renaissance Ferrara (Los Angeles, 2000), 8–​9; Alexander, Painted Page, 11. 69 Campbell, Renaissance Portraits, 66–​67; Pope-​Hennessy, Portrait in the Renaissance, 205–​9; Lorne Campbell, ‘Diptychs with Portraits,’ in Essays in Context: Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych, ed. John Oliver Hand and Ron Spronk (Cambridge, New Haven, CT, and London, 2006), 33–​45; Schmidt, ‘Diptychs and Supplicants,’ 17–​18. 70 Pope-​Hennessy, Portrait in the Renaissance, 209–​ 11; Martin Warnke, ‘Individuality as Argument: Piero della Francesca’s Portrait of the Duke and Duchess of Urbino,’ in The Image of the Individual: Portraits in the Renaissance, ed. Nicholas Mann and Luke Syson (London, 1998), 81–​90. 71 Pope-​Hennessy, Portrait in the Renaissance, 209. Leonello d’Este was particularly fond of complex allegories on his medals, see for example, Lorne Campbell et al., eds., Renaissance Faces: Van Eyck to Titian (London, 2008), Cat. 3–​4. 72 Stoichita, Self-​Aware Image, ch. 2, 17–​29. 73 Brown et  al., Virtue and Beauty, 142, Cat. 16; Jennifer Fletcher, ‘Bernardo Bembo and Leonardo’s Portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci,’ The Burlington Magazine 131, no. 1041 (1989): 811–​ 16; John Walker, ‘Ginevra de’ Benci by Leonardo da Vinci,’ in National Gallery of Art. Report and Studies in the History of Art (1967), 1–​38. 74 Pope-​Hennessy, Portrait in the Renaissance, 214–​16. 75 Stoichita, Self-​Aware Image, 20–​23. For the parergon see Jacques Derrida, The Truth in Painting, trans. Geoff Bennington and Ian McLeod (Chicago, 1987). 76 Recent technical analysis has confirmed the velvet covering of the diptych dates to the late fifteenth century. This analysis also proved that there were originally clasps affixed to the velvet, which corresponds to the inventory entry. Campbell et al., ‘Two Panels by Roberti,’ 29–​42; Allen et al., ‘Catalogue,’ Cats. IXa and IXb.

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77 Hans Belting, Likeness and Presence:  A History of the Image before the Era of Art, trans. Edmund Jephcott (Chicago and London, 1994), 481; Stoichita, Self-​Aware Image, 60–​63; Patricia Simons, ‘The Visual Dynamics of (Un)veiling in Early Modern Culture,’ in Visual Cultures of Secrecy in Early Modern Europe, ed. Sean E.  Roberts, Timothy McCall, and Giancarlo Fiorenza (Kirksville, MO, 2013), 24–​53; Klaus Krüger, Das Bild als Schleier des Unsichtbaren: ästhetische Illusion in der Kunst der frühen Neuzeit in Italien (Munich, 2001). 78 The technical analysis of the velvet suggests the diptych did not have hinges, but the panels were joined by the velvet binding. Campbell et al., ‘Two Panels by Roberti,’ 35. 79 Allen et al., ‘Catalogue,’ xxxvii. 80 Alfred Acres, ‘The Middle of Diptychs,’ in Push Me, Pull You, ed. Sarah Blick and Laura Gelfand (Leiden, The Netherlands, and Boston, 2011), 613–​14. 81 Campbell, ‘Pictura,’ 279. 82 Denise Allen, ‘Ercole de’ Roberti as Painter-​Draughtsman,’ The Burlington Magazine 141, no. 1153 (1999): xv–​xxiv. 83 Allen et al., ‘Catalogue,’ xxxvii. 84 Timothy Verdon, ‘The Art of Guido Mazzoni’ (PhD thesis,Yale University, 1978), 16–​19. 85 Peter Brown, The Body and Society: Men,Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York, 1988). 86 The variants ‘Corpus Domini,’ ‘Corpo di Christo,’ and ‘Corpus Christi’ are all terms used in the primary sources. In the account books of Eleonora, Corpo di Christo is the most frequent term used for the convent in Ferrara. 87 Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 373.ASMO M&F 27, 78. Eleonora gave a painting depicting the scenes from the Life of Christ from Bruges to the convent, Barstow, Gualenghi-​d’Este Hours, 113. Eleonora’s account books repeatedly refer to numerous alms Eleonora provided for the Corpo di Christo and other religious institutions, ASMO AP 633, AP 636, AP 640. For the Corpus Christi procession see Charles Rosenberg, ‘The Use of Celebrations in Public and Semi-​Public Affairs in Fifteenth Century Ferrara,’ in Il teatro italiano del Rinascimento, ed. Maristella de Panizza Lorch (Milan, 1980), 521–​35. The original letters are in ASMO C&S 131–​32. 88 Mary Martin McLaughlin, ‘Creating and Recreating Communities of Women: the Case of Corpus Domini, Ferrara,’ in Sisters and Workers in the Middle Ages, ed. Judith M. Bennett (Chicago, 1989), 261–​88. 89 Jeryldene M.  Wood, Women, Art, and Spirituality:  The Poor Clares of Early Modern Italy (Cambridge, 1996), ch. 5, 121–​ 44; Margaret Koster, ‘Reconsidering “St. Catherine of Bologna with Three Donors” by the Baroncelli Master of Bruges,’ Simiolus:  Netherlands Quarterly for the History of Art 26, no.  1/​2 (1998):  4–​17; Kathleen G.  Arthur, ‘Images of Clare and Francis in Caterina Vigri’s Personal Breviary,’ Franciscan Studies 62 (2004): 177–​91; Kathleen G. Arthur, ‘Il breviario di Santa Caterina da Bologna e “l’arte povera” clarissa,’ in I monasteri femminili come centri di cultura fra Rinascimento e Barocco, ed. Gianna Pomata and Gabriella Zarri (Rome, 2005), 92–​122. 90 Wood, Women, Art, 124. 91 Ibid., 128–​30. 92 Ibid., 130–​32. 93 Suor Bembo’s biography of Caterina, Lo specchio di illuminazione from 1469, quoted in Wood, Women, Art, 134. 94 Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 373. Payments for the oratory in the convent are found in court records, ASMO M&F 27.78 95 See Appendix ASMO AP 638, 138R. 96 Barstow, Gualenghi-​d’Este Hours, 112–​14. Eleonora travelled regularly to Bologna, as the illegitimate daughter of Ercole was married to Annibale Bentivoglio, the son of the rulers of Bologna. The convent of Corpus Domini and the body of Caterina was a popular pilgrimage site. For example, Ippolita Sforza made a special visit to the convent of Corpus Domini in Bologna upon her wedding trip from Milan to Naples on 25 April 1465, Eileen

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Southern, ‘A Prima Ballerina of the Fifteenth Century,’ in Music and Context:  Essays for John M. Ward, ed. Anne Dhu Shapiro (Cambridge, 1985), 190. Archivio di Stato di Ferrara, Archivio Bentivoglio, Repert Contratti Tom III Lib 7, n. 29. 97 Barstow, Gualenghi-​d’Este Hours, 131–​32. 98 Quoted in ibid., 160. 99 Quoted in ibid., 161. 100 Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge, 1991), 58. 101 Kirkbride discusses Cusa in relation to the perspectival intarsia games in the Urbino studioli, Robert Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory: The Renaissance Studioli of Federico de Montefeltro (New  York:  Columbia University Press, 2008), http://​www.gutenberg-​e.org/​kirkbride/​ index.html, ch. 2, Sec. 2.3, 40. 102 Ibid., ch. 3, 17. 103 Ibid., ch. 3, 14. 104 David B. Ruderman, The World of a Renaissance Jew: The Life and Thought of Abraham ben Mordecai Farissol (Cincinnati, OH, 1981), 59–​60; Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 167. 105 Grafton, Worlds Made by Words, 46–​48; John R. Spencer, ‘Ut Rhetorica Pictura: A Study in Quattrocento Theory of Painting,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 20, no. 1/​2 (1957): 26–​44. 106 Peter Dronke, Fabula: Explorations into the Uses of Myth in Medieval Platonism (Leiden, The Netherlands, and Köln, Germany, 1974); Peter G. Bietenholz, Historia and Fabula: Myths and Legends in Historical Thought from Antiquity to the Modern Age (Leiden, The Netherlands, and New York, 1994); Campbell, Cabinet of Eros, 8–​10. 107 Dronke, Fabula, 2. 108 Charles G. Osgood, Boccaccio on Poetry: Being the Preface and the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Books of Boccaccio’s Genealogia Deorum Gentilium in an English Version with Introductory Essay and Commentary (New York, 1956), 48. 109 Quoted in Osgood, Boccaccio on Poetry, 49–​50. 110 Bietenholz, Historia, 147–​48. 111 Campbell, Cabinet of Eros, 10. 112 Quoted and translated in Anthony Colantuono, ‘Dies Alcyoniae: The Invention of Bellini’s Feast of the Gods,’ Art Bulletin 73, no. 2 (1991): 240. 113 Quoted in Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory, ch. 2, n. 47. 114 Dronke, Fabula, 63; Mendelsohn, Paragoni, 6, 38, and 55. 115 Farago, Leonardo’s Paragone, 189. 116 Krüger, Das Bild als Schleier des Unsichtbaren, 37–​38, 52. 117 John 14:6. 118 Campbell, Cabinet of Eros, 11–​12. 119 Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory, ch. 4, Sec. 4.4, 55–​57. 120 Wendy Steiner, ‘Intertextuality in Painting,’ The American Journal of Semiotics 3, no.  4 (1985):  57–​66; Stoichita, Self-​Aware Image; Julia Kristeva, Desire in Language:  A Semiotic Approach to Literature and Art, ed. Leon S. Roudiez, trans. Thomas Gora, Alice Jardine, and Leon S. Roudiez (New York, 1980); Graham Allen, Intertextuality (London, 1999). 121 The books are listed in two inventories taken of Eleonora’s collections: ASMO AP 638 and ASMO G114. See transcriptions in the appendix. Also see Giulio Bertoni, La biblioteca estense e la coltura ferrarese ai tempi del duca Ercole I d’Este, 1471–​1505 (Turin, Italy, 1903), 229, Appendix II. 122 Some collectors used the colour of the bindings of books to correspond to the organisation of contents, see Anthony Hobson, Apollo and Pegasus: An Enquiry into the Formation and Dispersal of a Renaissance Library (Amsterdam, 1975), 10. For the decoration and display of books in the study see Thornton, The Scholar, 136–​37. 123 Listed in both inventories, AP 638, 143V and G114, 137R, see appendix. 124 See Appendix AP 640, 124V. Also published in Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara, II.I, 409, Doc. 597bis.

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125 See Appendix ASMO G114, 75v. Also published in Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara, II.II, 36, Doc. 17. Franceschini, however misses out a line, conflating the entry of the anchona with the mirror below. 126 ‘E ad dito [16 di setembre] …a m[aestro] Zoanne franc[esco] da parma [(Mainieri)] fina ad xj de aprile il q[ua]lle d[i]‌pinssa uno santo agustino […] e san franc[esco] per lo oratorio di sua s[ignoria]…’ AP 637, 74V. Also noted in Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 113. 127 See Appendix G114, 133R-​V. Also published in Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara, II.II, 37; Campori, Cataloghi ed inventarii, 2. 128 See Appendix G114, 133V, 75v. Also published in Franceschini, Artisti a Ferrara, II.II, 36. 129 Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory, especially chs. 2 and 3. For memory treatises in general, see Lina Bolzoni, The Gallery of Memory: Literary and Iconographic Models in the Age of the Printing Press, trans. Jeremy Parzen (Toronto, 2001). 130 Stoichita, Self-​Aware Image, 113. 131 From Guéret’s Divers traités de morale et de l’eloquence, Paris 1672. Quoted in Stoichita, Self-​ Aware Image, 113. 132 Stoichita, Self-​Aware Image, 104–​5. For citation see Bernard Beugnot, ‘Dialogue, entretien et citation à l’époque classique,’ Canadian Review of Comparative Literature 3–​4, no. 1976–​77 (1976): 39–​50. 133 Thornton, The Scholar; Findlen, Possessing Nature; Pomian, Collectionneurs; Pomian, Collectors; Campbell, Cabinet of Eros, 29–​57 (ch. 1); Clark, ‘Collecting and Sociability,’ 171–​84. 134 On literary imitation see Jean-​ Claude Carron, ‘Imitation and Intertextuality in the Renaissance,’ New Literary History 19, no. 3 (1988): 565–​79; George Pigman, ‘Versions of Imitation in the Renaissance,’ Renaissance Quarterly 33, no. 1 (1980): 1–​32. For copying and imitation in artistic practice see Andrea Bolland, ‘Art and Humanism in Early Renaissance Padua:  Cennini, Vergeria and Petrarch on Imitation,’ Renaissance Quarterly 49, no.  3 (1996): 469–​87; Megan Holmes,‘Copying Practices and Marketing Strategies in a Fifteenth-​ Century Florentine Painter’s Workshop,’ in Artistic Exchange and Cultural Translation in the Italian Renaissance City, ed. Stephen Campbell and Stephen Milner (Cambridge, 2004), 38–​74; Cennino Cennini, The Craftsman’s Handbook/​Il libro dell’arte, trans. Daniel Thompson (New York, 1933); Michael Baxandall, ‘Guarino, Pisanello and Manuel Chrysoloras,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 28 (1965): 183–​204; Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators; Bolland, ‘Art and Humanism,’ 469–​87. For the connection between literary culture and fantasia around the circle of Leonardo see Martin Kemp, Leonardo da Vinci: The Marvellous Works of Nature and Man (Oxford, 2006), 137–​203. 135 Quoted in Pigman, ‘Versions of Imitation,’ 6–​7. Also see Stoichita, Self-​Aware Image, 131–​33. 136 Baldassare Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier, trans. Leonard Eckstein Opdycke (Mineola, TX, 2003), Book I, 34. Coincidentally, in this passage Castiglione refers to Eleonora’s younger brother, Ferdinand. 137 Pigman, ‘Versions of Imitation,’ 20; Baxandall, ‘Decembrio’s De Politia,’ 52. 138 Celenza, ‘Creating Canons in Ferrara,’ 79. 139 Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory, esp. ch. 4, 4.1, 5. 140 Quoted and translated in Grafton, Commerce with the Classics, 43. 141 Ibid., 45. 142 The literature is large but see Grafton’s work, cited throughout this chapter and Roger Chartier, Forms and Meanings:  Texts, Performances, and Audiences from Codex to Computer (Philadelphia, 1995); Roger Chartier, Inscription and Erasure: Literature and Written Culture from the Eleventh to the Eighteenth Century, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Philadelphia, 2005). 143 For the flexibility of Leonello’s library, see Grafton, Commerce with the Classics, 19–​45. 144 Luke Syson, ‘Ercole de’ Roberti: The Making of a Court Artist,’ The Burlington Magazine 141, no. 1153 (1999): xiii. The Adoration of the Magi was listed in the inventory of Pietro Aldobrandini who inherited many of the Este paintings, and has been assumed to have belonged to Borso d’Este due to circumstantial evidence. Jane Martineau, ed., Andrea

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Mantegna, Exhibition Catalogue, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York and Royal Academy of Arts, London (New York, 1992), 126 and 129, Cat. 8. 145 Mantegna’s painting was copied across media: in manuscript illumination, in other paintings, as well as in drawings. Keith Christiansen, ‘Early Renaissance Narrative Painting in Italy,’ The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, New Series 41, no.  2 (1983):  33–​36; Martineau, Mantegna, 126 and 9, Cat. 8. 146 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 80–​82. 147 Nagel and Wood, Anachronic Renaissance, 16. 148 Ibid., 11–​14. 149 See Appendix ASMO AP G114, 133V. 150 Emanuele Mattaliano, ‘A Story of Cultural Disaster: the Dispersion and Destruction of the Artistic Heritage of Ferrara,’ in From Borso to Cesare d’Este: The School of Ferrara 1450–​1628, ed. Patrick Matthiesen (London and New York, 1984); Jaynie Anderson, ‘The Rediscovery of Ferrarese Renaissance Painting in the Risorgimento,’ Burlington Magazine 135, no. 1085 (1993): 539–​49. For the inventory of Lucrezia d’Este, which lists many paintings originally owned by the Este see Paola della Pergola, ‘L’Inventario del 1592 di Lucrezia d’Este,’ L’Arte antica e moderna (1959):  342–​51; Jadranka Bentini, ‘Da Ferrara a Roma e oltre. La migrazione dei dipinti ferraresi dopo la devoluzione,’ in Il museo senza confini. Dipinti ferraresi del Rinascimento nelle raccolte romane, ed. Jadranka Bentini and Sergio Guarino (Milan, 2002). 151 In a previous publication I suggested that the Roberti diptych was the ‘original’ and that all the derivations were copying it, but following useful reviewer’s comments, I have altered my argument, as there is no evidence that there was not another, now lost prototype. See Leah R. Clark, ‘Replication, Quotation, and the “Original” in Quattrocento Collecting Practices,’ in The Challenge of the Object/​Die Herausforderung des Objekts, ed. Georg Ulrich Großmann and Petra Krutisch (Nuremberg, 2014), 136–​40. 152 Miklos Boskovits, The Martello Collection: Paintings, Drawings and Miniatures from the XIVth to the XVIIIth Centuries (Florence, 1985); David Alan Brown, ‘Maineri and Marmitta as Devotional Artists,’ Prospettiva 53–​56 (1988–​89): 298–​308; Kristen Lippincott,‘A Masterpiece of Renaissance Drawing: A “Sacrificial Scene” by Gian Francesco de’ Maineri,’ Art Institute of Chicago Museum Studies 17, no.  1 (1991):  6–​21; 88–​89; Silla Zamboni, Pittori di Ercole I  d’Este:  Giovan Francesco Maineri, Lazzaro Grimaldi, Domenico Panetti, Michele Coltellini (Milan, 1975). 153 For the discussion of different types of copies, see Nagel and Wood, Anachronic Renaissance. 154 Zamboni, Pittori di Ercole, 57, Cat. 35, Fig. 13b. 155 Philip Pouncey, ‘Ercole Grandi’s Masterpiece,’ The Burlington Magazine 70, no.  409 (1937): 160–​69. 156 Eva C.  Kleeman, Italiaanse schilderijen, 1300–​ 1500:  eigen collectie/​ Italian Paintings, 1300–​ 1500: Own Collection (Rotterdam, The Netherlands, 1993), 73–​74, Cat. 19. 157 Zamboni, Pittori di Ercole, 57, Cat. 35, Fig. 13b. 158 San Marco Casa D’Aste Spa, ‘Sales Catalogue,Venice 9 July 2006.’ 159 Manca, Art of Ercole, 144. 160 Zamboni, Pittori di Ercole, Plate VII and Figs. 17–​19d. 161 See Appendix ASMO G114, 133R. 162 Ronald Lightbown, Mantegna:  With a Complete Catalogue of the Paintings, Drawings, and Prints (Oxford, 1986), 477–​78; Paul Kristeller, Andrea Mantegna (London and New York, 1901), 306. The Brera Madonna has also been connected by scholars to letters found in the Gonzaga archives in Mantua, between Eleonora and Francesco Gonzaga, and between Francesco Gonzaga and Mantegna from November and December 1485, ASMA AG 1183. Kristeller, Andrea Mantegna, 482–​83, Docs. 41–​45. 163 For a discussion of these terms see Holmes, ‘Coyping Practices,’ 48–​50. There are a number of paintings with a similar theme. A painting in the Louvre, which has been attributed to a follower of Mantegna, probably a Veronese from the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century, is very similar to the Brera Madonna. A painting of the Virgin and Child with Seraphim

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and Cherubim in New York, whose authorship has been contested, has been attributed to be an early work by Mantegna, and follows a similar subject matter. Martineau, Mantegna, 139, Cat. 12. 164 Giovanni Agosti, Su Mantegna (Milan, 2005), 486–​87 n. 106; Giovanni Agosti and Dominique Thiébaut, Mantegna: 1431–​1506 (Paris, 2008), 330–​31, Cat. 136. For the entry in ASMO G114, 133R see appendix. 165 See Appendix ASMO G114, 130R, 133V. She also owned an altar cloth with a similar depiction, ‘Una anchona da altaro di razo cum uno christo e le marie lavorato di oro e di seta, longa braza tre. e Largo uno e mezo,’ 127V. 166 G114, 133R. The painting is assumed to have been painted in 1474 for the Este, when Roberti was paid. Scholars have generally dated the painting to the early 1470s based on the stylistic affinities it shares with Roberti’s Griffoni predella. Allen et al., ‘Catalogue,’ xxviii. 167 Allen et al., ‘Catalogue,’ xxviii. 168 Ibid.; Arie Wallert, ‘Pigments and Organic Colorants:  Two Case Studies,’ in Early Italian Paintings: Techniques and Analysis, ed.Tonnie Bakkenist, René Hoppenbrouwers, and Hélène Dubois (Maastricht, The Netherlands, 1997), 73–​78; Louisa C. Matthew, ‘ “Vendecolori a Venezia”:  The Reconstruction of a Profession,’ The Burlington Magazine 144, no.  1196 (2002): 683. 169 John Rupert Martin, The Illustration of the Heavenly Ladder of John Climacus, ed. A. M. Friend (Princeton, NJ, 1954). Also see Brown, Body and Society, 231, 237–​39; Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 86. A document in Eleonora’s account/​inventory book records that the camerlinga of Eleonora on 20 March 1488 took the book, Schale del Paradixo for Eleonora’s use. ASMO AP 639, 22V. 170 Brown, Body and Society, 235–​37. 171 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 93 and 97. 172 Gabriella Zarri, ‘Pietà e profezia alle corti padane:  le pie consigliere dei principi,’ in Il rinascimento nelle corti padane: Società e cultura, ed. Paolo Rossi (Bari, Italy, 1977), 204–​19. 173 Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 77. 174 The body of the first Beatrice d’Este is still a visited cult site in the monastery of San Antonio Polesine in Ferrara. Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 77 and 84. 175 Bernhard Ridderbos, Saint and Symbol: Images of Saint Jerome in Early Italian Art, trans. P. de Waard-​Dekking (Groningen, The Netherlands, 1984); Brown, Body and Society, 366–​82. 176 Baxandall, ‘Decembrio’s De Politia,’ 66. 177 Bolzoni cites two anonymous late-​fifteenth-​century memory treatises, which deal with memory and sacred images, both containing fairly general titles, De nova ac spirituali quadam artificialis arte memorie and De memoria artificiali adipiscenda tractatus. Bolzoni, Gallery of Memory, 185. The text in Eleonora’s library is simply listed as ‘Memoria artificiale astampa in bambasina,’ ASMO G114, 137R. 178 H. D.  Gronau, ‘Ercole Roberti’s Saint Jerome,’ The Burlington Magazine XCI, no.  558 (1949): 243–​44. 179 The painting is suggested to be in the circle of Giovan Francesco Maineri and was sold at Sotheby’s London on 30 November 1983, Lot 6 –​not 1984 as in Manca, Art of Ercole, 104. 180 Barstow, Gualenghi-​d’Este Hours, 185. 181 Manca, Art of Ercole, Fig. 89. 182 Osgood, Boccaccio on Poetry, 47. 183 Heidegger, ‘The Thing’; Latour, ‘From Realpolitik,’ 22–​23. 184 Gundersheimer, Ferrara, 13–​65; Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 1–​ 52; Prosperi, ‘Istituzioni ecclesiastiche,’ 125–​64. For the politics of the Roverella family, who held high ecclesiastical offices and maintained complicated relations with the Este, see Campbell, Cosmè Tura of Ferrara, 99–​129. 185 Colin Wiggins, Richard Cork, and Jennifer Sliwka, Michael Landy: Saints Alive (London, 2013), for the drawings see Figs. 29 and 45, for the sculpture see Figs. 37 and 42. 186 Wiggins, Cork, and Sliwka, Michael Landy: Saints Alive, 24.

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4 THE ORDER OF THE ERMINE

1 Paolo Giovio, Dialogo dell’Imprese Militari et Amorose BL: 637.d.21 (Rome, 1555), 34–​36. Also see Paolo Giovio, Dialogo dell’imprese militari e amorose (1551), ed. Maria Luisa Doglio,Vol. 4, Centro studi ‘Europa delle Corti’ (Rome, 1978), 56. 2 Manuscript H, folio 12R and 48V, quoted in James Beck, ‘The Dream of Leonardo da Vinci,’ Artibus et Historiae 14, no. 27 (1993): 188–​89. 3 Jacqueline Marie Musacchio, ‘Weasels and Pregnancy in Renaissance Italy,’ Renaissance Studies 15, no. 2 (2001): 181–​82. 4 Findlen, Possessing Nature, see esp. ch. 8. Also see David Freedberg, ‘Iconography between the History of Art and the History of Science: Art, Science, and the Case of the Urban Bee,’ in Picturing Science, Producing Art, ed. Caroline A. Jones and Peter Galison (New York and London, 1998), 272–​96. 5 A large body of literature has emerged on emblems, see for example, John Manning, The Emblem (London, 2002); Peter M. Daly, ed., Emblem Scholarship: Directions and Developments: A Tribute to Gabriel Hornstein, Vol. 5, Imago Figurata (Turnhout, Belgium, 2005); Daniel S. Russell, ‘Illustration, Hieroglyph, Icon: The Status of the Emblem Picture,’ Mikrokosmos. Beiträge Literaturnissenschaft und Bedeutungschung 65 (2002): 73–​90; Jan C. Westerhoff,‘A World of Signs:  Baroque Pansemioticism, the Polyhistor and the Early Modern Wunderkammer,’ Journal of the History of Ideas 62, no. 4 (2001): 623–​50. 6 Manning, The Emblem, 18. 7 Daniel S.  Russell, ‘Perceiving, Seeing and Meaning:  Emblems and Some Approaches to Reading Early Modern Culture,’ in Aspects of Renaissance and Baroque Symbol Theory, 1500–​ 1700, ed. Peter M. Daly and Peter Manning (New York, 1999), 83. 8 A. S.  Q. Visser, Joannes Sambucus and the Learned Image:  The Use of the Emblem in Late-​ Renaissance Humanism (Leiden, The Netherlands, 2005), 89. 9 John Manning, ‘Introduction,’ in Aspects of Renaissance and Baroque Symbol Theory, 1500–​ 1700, ed. Peter M.  Daly and John Manning (New  York, 1999), xvii; Rudolf Wittkower, ‘Hieroglyphics I: The Conceptual Impact of Egypt from the Fifteenth Century Onward,’ in Selected Lectures of Rudolf Wittkower: The Impact of Non-​European Civilizations on the Art of the West, ed. Donald Martin Reynolds (Cambridge, 1989), 95. 10 Harry Berger, ‘The System of Early Modern Painting,’ Representations 62 (1998): 33–​34. 11 These attributes might be understood to make up the performative aspect of portraiture in the early modern period, see Harry Berger, ‘Fictions of the Pose: Facing the Gaze of Early Modern Portraiture,’ Representations 46 (1994): 87–​120. For the portrait see Charles Rosenberg, ‘The Double Portrait of Federigo and Guidubaldo da Montefeltro:  Power, Wisdom, and Dynasty,’ in Federico di Montefeltro:  Le Arti, ed. Giorgio Cerboni Baiardi, Giorgio Chittolini, and Piero Floriani (Rome, 1986), 213–​22; Cecil H. Clough, ‘Federigo da Montefeltro’s Private Study in His Ducal Palace of Gubbio,’ Apollo 86 (1967): 278–​87; Paolo dal Poggetto, ‘Ritratto di Federico di Montefeltro e del figlio Guidubaldo,’ in Urbino 1470–​80 circa ‘Omaggio a Pedro Berruguete’ e altro, ed. Paolo Dal Poggetto (Urbino, Italy, 2003), 28–​36. 12 The exception to this is Clough, ‘Federico and Naples.’ 13 Keith Christiansen, Stefan Weppelmann, and Patricia Rubin, eds., The Renaissance Portrait: From Donatello to Bellini (New York and New Haven, CT, 2011). 14 Ruth Wilkins Sullivan, ‘Three Ferrarese Panels on the Theme of “Death Rather Than Dishonour” and the Neapolitan Connection,’ Zeitschrift Für Kunstgeschichte 57, no.  4 (1994): 620; Clough, ‘Federico and Naples,’ 160. 15 Raggio, The Gubbio Studiolo, 29–​31; Clough, ‘Federico and Naples,’ 113–​72. 16 For metatopicality, see Michael Warner, Publics and Counterpublics (New York, 2002), 93–​95; Charles Taylor, Modern Social Imaginaries (Durham, NC, and London, 2004), 86. 17 Giuliana Vitale, Araldica e Politica: Statuti di Ordini cavallereschi ‘curiali’ nella Napoli aragonese (Salerno, Italy, 1999), 141–​42; D’arcy Jonathan Dacre Boulton, The Knights of the Crown: The Monarchical Orders of Knighthood in Later Medieval Europe 1325–​1520 (Suffolk, UK, 1987), 424.

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18 Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory, ch. 4. 19 Erwin Panofsky, Studies in Iconology: Humanistic Themes in the Art of the Renaissance (New York and London, 1972); Michael Ann Holly, Panofsky and the Foundations of Art History (Ithaca, NY, and London, 1984). 20 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 330–​38;Vitale, Araldica, 35–​54. 21 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 134–​35 and 379. 22 Ibid., 330. In contemporary documents it is recorded as the impresa, devisa, or ordine of the giarra, Giarrettiera, giarriglie, or Nostra Donna. See, for instance, the court account books, Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 26, 629. 23 Vitale, Araldica, 40; Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 330, 335. A representation of the collar of the Jar appears on the effigy of Gomez Manrique originally from the Monastery of Fresdeval, now in the Museo de Burgos, Spain, Ronald Lightbown, Mediaeval European Jewellery (London, 1992), 261, Fig. 135. 24 Alfonso was said to have seen an apparition of the Virgin Mary at Campo Vecchio, where she inspired him to enter Naples through an ancient aqueduct. An altarpiece was consequently painted by Jacomar, a Spanish painter, which depicted the Virgin’s apparition to Alfonso, and this altarpiece was carried in annual procession to the site. The altarpiece and chapel were destroyed in the sixteenth century. Minieri Riccio, ‘Fatti di Alfonso ASPN VI,’ 34; Alison Cole, Virtue and Magnificence: Art of the Italian Renaissance Courts (New York, 1995), 49. 25 Leostello reports that Ferrante went in procession to the location on 2 June 1488, Gaetano Filangieri, Documenti per la storia, le arte e industrie per le provincie napoletane raccolti e pubblicati. Effemeridi, Delle cose fatte per il duca di Calabria (1484–​91) di Joampiero Leostello da Volterra da un codice della Biblioteca Nazionale di Parigi,Vol. 1 (Naples, 1883), 150. 26 Giovio, Dialogo, 4, 55. 27 For Naples and the political landscape of Quattrocento Italy, see the introduction to this book. 28 Pane, ‘Tavola Strozzi.’ 29 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 410. 30 John Charles Arnold, ‘Arcadia Becomes Jerusalem: Angelic Caverns and Shrine Conversion at Monte Gargano,’ Speculum 75, no. 3 (2000): 567–​88; Michele D’Arienzo,‘Il pellergrinaggio al Gargano tra xi e xvi secolo,’ in Culte et pèlerinages à Saint Michel en Occident: les trois monts dédiés à l’archange ed. Pierre Bouet, Giorgio Otranto, and André Vauchez (Rome, 2003), 220–​43. It should be noted that there was an Order of Saint Michael the Archangel in France from 1469 to 1790, which employed the archangel as its symbol, as well as an Order of the Ermine in Brittany, active between 1381 and 1532, which also took Saint Michael the Archangel as its patron saint, but neither of these seems to have been connected to the Neapolitan order, see Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 274–​78 and 427–​47, respectively. Capaccio notes in his Il forastiero that there existed an order in England, which took the ermine also as its motto, but was called the ‘Ordine della Spiga,’ (Order of the Spike) accompanied by the motto ‘A.ma.vic.,’ which Capaccio notes the French translate as ‘Plustost mourir.’ Capaccio, Forastiero, 223. 31 Giovio, Dialogo, 4, 56. 32 Mazzella, Vite, 396–​97. 33 Capaccio, Forastiero, 222. 34 Ibid., 222–​23. 35 Giovanni Antonio Summonte, Dell’Historia della città, e regno di Napoli:  Tomo Terzo, ove si descrivono le vite, e fatti de’ suoi Rè Aragonesi dall’anno 1442, fino all’anno 1500, BNN: B.BRANC. 117 K (29). (Naples: Antonio Bulifon and Novello de Bonis, 1675), 337–​39, 449–​50. 36 ‘Questa impresa [dell’ ermine], dunque ciascuno dell’età nosta si puo’ racordare, hauerla veduta scolpita nella moneta d’argento di questo Re nominata Armellina di valuta di grana quattro, e questo acciò fusse not à ciascheduno l’ingratitudine del Principe di Rossano, e la generosità dell’animo suo.’ Summonte, Historia Tom. III, 337,450.

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37 BNP ITAL 1591 MF 13322. 165R. Letter of 29? September 1465, Angilberto to the Duke of Milan. 38 The Italian text was held at the Abbey in Cava, Codex Cavensis 64 and was transcribed and published in 1845 by Giuseppe Maria Fusco, but it is now apparently lost according to Clough. Giuseppe Maria Fusco, ed. I Capitoli dell’ Ordine dell’ Armellino (Naples, 1845); Clough, ‘Federico and Naples,’ 132 n. 81. The Latin version is in the British Library, MS. Add. 28,628. Also see Vitale, Araldica, 109 and 131; Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 407. 39 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 408. 40 It should be noted that throughout the 1480s Ferrante sought to win the leading Roman barons into his service. His first choice was to gain the support of Virginio Orsini, who indeed in 1485 had been paid as governor-​general of the Lega during the Barons’ War. This condotta had been renewed in 1487 but dissolved in 1489, and thus was not completely secure. Ferrante sought Orsini as a member of the Order of the Ermine to insure his loyalty to Naples. Orsini’s investiture was noted in an anonymous chronicle. Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 404 n. 20. On 11 February 1487 payments were made for a standard with various devices to be sent to Rome to Virginio Orsini. Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 629. 41 These numbers were symbolic in relation to nine orders of angels related to the Order. Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 411. 42 Ibid., 411–​12. 43 Ibid., 419. 44 Ibid., 413–​17. 45 Ibid., 418. 46 Vitale, Araldica, 2–​35. 47 Cosimo Damiano Fonseca, ed. Otranto 1480:  Atti del convegno internazionale di studio promosso in occasione del V centenario della caduta di Otranto ad opera dei turchi.,Vol. I (Galatina, Italy, 1986). 48 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 419. 49 Ibid., 421. 50 Translated by ibid., 419–​20. 51 Ibid., 421–​22; Roberto Pane, ‘Guido Mazzoni e la Pietà di Monteoliveto,’ Napoli Nobilissima XI (1972): 49–​69; George L. Hersey, Alfonso II and the Artistic Renewal of Naples 1485–​1495 (New Haven, CT, and London, 1969), 109–​10. 52 Filangieri, ‘Effemeridi’ in Documenti, 1, 138. 53 Tommaro de Marinis, La biblioteca napoletana dei re d’Aragona, Vol. 1 (Milan, 1952), 134; Filangieri, Castel Nuovo, 238. 54 Filangieri, ‘Effemeridi’ in Documenti, 1, 216. 55 Gaetano Filangieri, Documenti per la storia, le arte e industrie per le provincie napoletane raccolti e pubblicati: Estratti di Schede Notarili,Vol. 3 (Naples, 1885), 5. 56 The sacristy is large and could have accommodated twenty-​seven knights. 57 For a list of those invested with the Order, see Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 414–​15. 58 Mauss, The Gift; Weiner, Inalienable Possessions; Appadurai, Social Life of Things. Also see Chapter 1 for relevant bibliography and discussion of Mauss and gifts. 59 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 332 and 379. 60 Minieri Riccio, ‘Fatti di Alfonso ASPN VI,’ 431. The Order of the Jar was one of the very few orders that accepted women into it, so it may well have been the Order’s collar. 61 From Chastelain’s Oeuvres quoted in Andrew Brown and Graeme Small, Court and Civic Society in the Burgundian Low Countries c. 1420–​1520 (Manchester, UK, 2007), 136. 62 ASMI SPE 323, 110, 161 and 162. 63 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 135 and 379. Ferrante ordered the statutes of the Order of the Golden Fleece to be translated from Flemish into Italian, see Angela Pinto, ‘ “Coverti di seda et d’oro…” Legature per la corte aragonese,’ in Libri a corte: Testi e immagini nella Napoli aragonese, ed. Emilia Ambra (Naples, 1997), 110.

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64 Ernesto Pontieri, Per la storia del regno di Ferrante I D’Aragona re di Napoli: Studi e ricerche (Naples, 1969), 69–​105; Monique Sommé, Isabelle de Portugal: Une femme au pouvoir au XVe siècle (Villeneuve d’Ascq, France, 1998), 442–​44. 65 Corazzol, Barbaro Dispacci, 93, Letter 42, 5 December 1471. 66 Pontieri, Storia di Ferrante I, 78–​79. 67 ‘La prefata M[aes]ta haveva i[n]‌dosse uno zacho de zetonino negro cum perfilli de hermelino e le calze negre cu[m] la divisa sive liurea del Re de Ingleterra.’ ASMI SPE 221, 36, letter of 10 February 1472. 68 The ambassador of the Duke of Burgundy was there for the celebrations of Eleonora d’Aragona and Ercole d’Este’s nuptials. Corazzol, Barbaro Dispacci, 569–​70, Letter 264, 15 April 1473. 69 Pontieri, Storia di Ferrante I, 105. 70 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 404. 71 ASMA, esteri, xxiv, 3.  Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 404; Ernesto Pontieri, ed. Fonti Aragonesi: I Registri della Cancelleria Vicereale di Calabria (1422–​1453) (Naples, 1961), 69–​70. This was also reported by the Milanese ambassador, ASMI SPE 226, 60. 72 Notar Giacomo, Cronica di Napoli, ed. Paolo Garzilli (Naples, 1845), 128. 73 Pontieri, Storia di Ferrante I, 99–​102. 74 Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 394–​95. Ercole is recorded receiving the Order of the Ermine in his letters to Galeazzo Sforza from November 1475, see ASMI SPE 323, 110 and 162. Ercole d’Este was depicted wearing the Order of the Garter in a fresco cycle in Belriguardo, Arienti, triumphis religionis, 61–​62; Joseph Manca,‘The Presentation of a Renaissance Lord: Portraiture of Ercole I d’Este, Duke of Ferrara (1471–​1505),’ Zeitschrift Für Kunstgeschichte 52 (1989): 538. 75 The report detailed that the bestowal of Galeazzo with this collar, enabled Galeazzo to bestow another twenty nobles as he saw fit, as is custom with the patent of the king. Francesco Senatore, ed. Dispacci sforzeschi da Napoli:  I. (1444-​2 luglio 1458) (Salerno, Italy, 1997), 495, Letter 191. 76 Senatore, Dispacci sforzeschi I, 277–​78, Letter 105. 77 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 331. 78 ASMI SPE 225, 124. 79 ASMI SPE 224, 195; 238, 2. Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN X,’ 16; Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 629. 80 Hilsdale, Byzantine Art. 81 Hersey, Aragonese Arch, 42 and 95 n. 46; Daniela Campanelli, ed., Le porte di Castel Nuovo: Il restauro (Naples, 1997); Pierluigi Leone De Castris, ed., Castel Nuovo: Il Museo Civico (Naples, 1990); Marina Santucci, ‘Le porte di Castel Nuovo,’ in Le porte di Castel Nuovo. Il restauro, ed. Daniela Campanelli (Naples, 1997), 13–​41. 82 Hersey, Aragonese Arch, 42–​44, Figs. 57–​63; Filangieri, Castel Nuovo, 209; Gaetano Filangieri, Documenti per la storia, le arte e industrie per le provincie napoletane raccolti e pubblicati: Indici degli artefici delle arti maggiori e minori. Dalla Lettera A alla Lettera G,Vol. 5 (Naples, 1891), 179. 83 Hersey, Aragonese Arch, 42–​43. Santucci, ‘Le porte di Castel Nuovo,’ 18. 84 Filangieri, Castel Nuovo, 209. For a description of the various devices used by the Aragonese, see Tommaro de Marinis, La biblioteca napoletana dei re d’Aragona. Supplemento, Vol. Tomo I. Testo (Verona, Italy, 1969), 129–​35. 85 PRINCEPS CUM JACOBO CUM DIOFEBO QUE DOLOSO/​UT REGEM PER[I]‌MANT COLLOQUIUM SIMULANT.Translation from Hersey, Aragonese Arch, 42. 86 HOS REX MARTI POTENS ANIMOSIOR HECTORE CLARO/​SENSIT UT INSIDIAS ENSE MICANTE FUGAT. Translation from ibid., 42. 87 HOSTEM TROJANUS FERDINANDUS VICIT IN ARVIS SICUT POMPEIUM CESAR IN AHACTIS [OECHALIIS]. Translation from ibid., 43. 88 TROIA DEDIT NOSTRO REQUIEM FINEMQUE LABORI/​IN QUA HOSTEM EUDI [FUDI] FORTITER AC PEPULI. Translation from ibid. 89 Ibid. 90 Charlton T. Lewis, An Elementary Latin Dictionary (Oxford, 1969).

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91 Filangieri, Castel Nuovo, 247. 92 Translation in Hersey, Aragonese Arch, 41. 93 de Marinis, Bib. Nap., 1, 131. The flaming throne also appears on armour in illumination celebrating Ferrante’s triumph (Kupferstichkabinett Berlin, inv. 78c folio 24). 94 de Marinis, Bib. Nap., 1, 144 n. 53; Filangieri, Castel Nuovo, 237–​38. 95 Filangieri, Castel Nuovo, 246–​47. 96 Ibid., 95–​96. 97 For the bed with the book device, see ibid., 247. For Poggioreale see Colombo,‘Poggioreale,’ 201; Hersey, Artistic Renewal of Naples, 64. 98 Giulio Cesare Capaccio, Neapolitanae Historiae, BNN RAC VILL B 742 (Apud. Io. Iacobum Carlinum: Naples, 1607), 435; Hersey, Artistic Renewal of Naples, 65. 99 Philip Grierson and Lucia Travaini, Medieval European Coinage: With a Catalogue of the Coins in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (1986), 14, 20, 372, 377. 100 For the cavalli see Chapter  1 and Gaetano Filangieri, ed., Un secolo di grande arte nella monetazione di Napoli (1442–​1556), Vol. 1 (Naples, 1973), 96–​97 and 102; Filangieri, Secolo di monetazione, 78, 79, Cats. 67, 68, and 70. 101 BNF, Latin 12947. Alexander, Painted Page, 66, Cat. 10; François Avril et  al., Dix siècles d’enluminure italienne (Paris, 1984), 174–​75. The ermine often appears in other manuscripts belonging to the Aragonese, such as BL, Additional MS. 15273. Also see Alexander, Painted Page, 66, Cats. 9 and 118, Cat. 49; de Marinis, Bib. Nap., II. 102 Hersey, Aragonese Arch, 28. 103 Biblioteca Palatina, cod. 1654, Parma. de Divitiis, Architettura e committenza, 12–​3, Fig.  4; Farbaky et al., Matthias Corvinus, Cat. 5.6. 104 A similar manuscript was made for Eleonora d’Aragona and is now in the Hermitage, de Marinis, Bib. Nap. Supplemento, Tomo I. Testo, 31. 105 Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, Cod. Guelf. 39, Aug. 4, fol. 13 r. Farbaky et al., Matthias Corvinus, 149–​50. 106 Gabriella Fényes, ‘Maiolica Floor Tiles from Buda Palace,’ in Matthias Corvinus, the King: Tradition and Renewal in the Hungarian Royal Court, 1458–​1490. Exhibition Catalogue, ed. Péter Farbaky, et al. (Budapest, 2008), 354–​76. 107 Christiansen, Weppelmann, and Rubin, The Renaissance Portrait: From Donatello to Bellini, Cat. 134; Andrea Bayer, ed., Art and Love in Renaissance Italy (New York and New Haven, CT, 2008), Cat. 119. 108 The collar represented here is not the same collar described in the statutes. Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 424 n. 99. 109 Hersey, Artistic Renewal of Naples, 29; Pane, ‘Guido Mazzoni,’ 55; Christiansen,Weppelmann, and Rubin, The Renaissance Portrait: From Donatello to Bellini, Cat. 133; Betsy Bennett Purvis, ‘Palpable Politics and Embodied Passions: Terracotta Tableau Sculpture in Italy, 1450–​1530’ (PhD thesis, University of Toronto, 2012), 251. 110 Mazzella, Vite, 397. 111 Capaccio, Forastiero, 222–​23. 112 Mazzella, Vite, 318. 113 The printed portrait could also be simply an innovation on the part of the artist, printer, or publisher. Ruth Mortimer, ‘The Author’s Image:  Italian Sixteenth-​Century Printed Portraits,’ Harvard Library Bulletin 7, no.  2 (1996):  1–​87; Bronwen Wilson, The World in Venice: Print, the City, and Early Modern Identity (Toronto, 2005), ch. 4; Leah R. Clark, ‘Libri e Donne:  Learned Women and Their Portraits’ (MA thesis, Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London, 2005). 114 Raggio, The Gubbio Studiolo, 120–​21. King Ferrante is present in a portrait, in the guise of Ptolemy in the Gubbio studiolo. Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory, 24. 115 Raggio, The Gubbio Studiolo, 44, 119–​21; Wilkins Sullivan, ‘Three Ferrarese Panels,’ 620; Thornton, Italian Renaissance Interior, 33, Fig. 34; Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory, 71–​72.

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116 Luciano Cheles, The Studiolo of Urbino: An Iconographic Investigation (University Park, PA, 1986), 84. 117 Cecil H. Clough, ‘Art as Power in the Decoration of the Study of an Italian Renaissance Prince: The Case of Federico da Montefeltro,’ Artibus et Historiae 16, no. 31 (1995): 23. For a discussion of the organisation of the studiolo see Cheles, Studiolo, 15–​18. 118 Cheles, Studiolo, 39. 119 Clough, ‘Federico and Naples,’ 138. 120 Cheles, Studiolo, 78. An ermine also appears in Carpaccio’s sketch of Saint Augustine in his study now in the British Museum (1934, 1208.1). 121 Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory, ch. 2, Sec. 2.3, 35. 122 BAV, Urb. lat. 365. Jonathan J.  G. Alexander, Italian Renaissance Illuminations (New  York, 1977), 88, Plate 25. The collar also appears in Federigo’s copies of Leonardo Bruni’s Historia florentini populi (BAV, Urb. Lat. 464, Fol. 2r), Petrarch’s Trionfi (Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, MS Vit.22-​) and Saint Paul’s Epistles (BAV, Urb. Lat. 18, Fol. 1v). See Alexander, Painted Page, 141, Cats. 64, 136, Cat 60; Mauro Natala, ed. Cosmè Tura e Francesco del Cossa: L’arte a Ferrara nell’età di Borso d’Este (Ferrara, 2007), 362, Cat. 91. Another reference to the ermine in Urbino appears in a portrait probably of Duke Francesco Maria della Rovere by Carpaccio dating from the early sixteenth century, where an ermine in the undergrowth is accompanied by the Order’s motto, Vittorio Sgarbi, Carpaccio, trans. Jay Hyams (New York and London, 1994), 154–​55; Clough, ‘Federico and Naples,’ 158; Antonio Conti, ‘L’Ordine napoletano dell’Ermellino e Federico da Montefeltro,’ Nobiltà: Rivista di araldica, Genealogia, Ordini Cavallereschi 89 (2009): 199–​220. 123 Eduard Chmelarz, Maximilian’s Triumphal Arch:  Woodcuts by Albrecht Dürer and Others (New York, 1972). Dürer also used the device elsewhere, see Willy Kurth, The Complete Woodcuts of Albrecht Dürer (New York, 1946), 23–​24, Plate 130. 124 Carlo Pedretti, ‘La dama dell’ermellino come allegoria politica,’ in Studi politici in onore di Luigi Firpo, ed. Silvia Rota Ghibandi and Franco Barcia (Milan, 1990), 167; Janice Shell and Grazioso Sironi, ‘Cecilia Gallerani: Leonardo’s Lady with an Ermine,’ Artibus et Historiae 13, no. 25 (1992): 53; Luke Syson and Larry Keith, Leonardo da Vinci: Painter at the Court of Milan (London and New Haven, CT, 2011), 122, Cat. 16. 125 Kirkbride, Architecture and Memory, ch. 2, Sec. 2.3, 48. 126 Shell and Sironi, ‘Cecilia Gallerani’; Pedretti, ‘La dama dell’ermellino.’ If the connection to Ludovico’s membership in the Order is referenced here, it might help with the dating of the portrait, as he received investiture in 1486, and thus it must have been painted after this, unless it is simply a reference to Naples. 127 Pedretti, ‘La dama dell’ermellino,’ 169; Barbara Fabjan, ‘In margine all’ermellino,’ in Leonardo: La dama con l’ermellino, ed. Barbara Fabjan and Pietro C. Marani (Milan, 1998), 73; Pietro C. Marani, ‘La Dama con l’ermellino e il ritratto milanese tra Quattro e Cinquecento,’ in Leonardo:  La dama con l’ermellino, ed. Barbara Fabjan and Pietro C.  Marani (Milan, 1998), 38. 128 Pedretti, ‘La dama dell’ermellino’; Fabjan, ‘In margine all’ermellino,’ 73. There are varied translations and interpretations of the poem see Carlo Pedretti, ‘A.D. 1493,’ Achademia Leonardi Vinci: Journal of Leonardo Studies and Bibliography of Vinciana 6 (1993): 133; Syson and Keith, Leonardo at Milan, 111, Cat. 10. Syson also notes how the white/​black contrast would have referred to the animal’s white fur and black-​tipped tail, which played on dark/​light (chiaroscuro), something Leonardo would have been interested in. 129 Kathleen Wren Christian, ‘Petrarch’s Triumph of Chastity in Leonardo’s Lady with an Ermine,’ in Coming About…A Festschrift for John Shearman, ed. Lars R. Jones and Louisa C. Matthew (Cambridge, 2001), 33–​40. 130 Martin Kemp, ‘Leonardo da Vinci: Science the Poetic Impulse,’ The Royal Society of Arts Journal 133 (1985): 198. 131 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 415–​16;Vitale, Araldica, 135–​40.

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132 For the story of Griselda see Tenth Day, Tenth Story, Giovanni Boccaccio, Decameron, ed. Vittore Branca (Milano, 1989). For the story in relation to the exchange of women and clothing in the early modern period, see Ann Rosalind Jones and Peter Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing and the Materials of Memory (Cambridge, 2000), ch. 9; Christiane Klapisch-​Zuber, Women Family and Ritual in Renaissance Italy, trans. Lydia Cochrane (Chicago and London, 1985), ch. 10. 133 For procession and its semiotics, Louis Marin, ‘Notes on a Semiotic Approach to Parade, Cortege, and Procession,’ in Time Out of Time, ed. Alessandro Falassi (Albuquerque, NM, 1987), 226. 134 Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, Lat. XI, 53 (4009). de Marinis, Bib. Nap., 1, 48; Tommaro de Marinis and Alessandro Perosa, eds., Nuovi documenti per la storia del rinascimento (Florence, 1970), 171. 135 Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN X.’ Cinico is also recorded as transcribing the statutes of the Order of the Jar de Marinis, Bib. Nap., 1, 46, 134. Cinico was also the scribe for Beatrice’s copy of Diomede Carafa’s De regimine principis, now in Leningrad. 136 Rona Agata, ‘L’investitura di Lodovico il Moro dell’ordine dell’Armellino,’ Archivio storico lombardo CIII (1979): 346–​58; Luigi Volpicella, ed. Regis Ferdinandi Primi, Instructionum Liber (10 maggio 1486–​10 maggio 1488) (Naples, 1916), 44–​50. Capaccio notes in his Il forastiero that he had read these very instructions sent to Philppo and Simonotto, Capaccio, Forastiero, 223. 137 Agata, ‘L’investitura,’ 349–​50. 138 Volpicella, Instructionum, 50. 139 Agata, ‘L’investitura,’ 358. 140 Ibid., 346 and 358. 141 Jones and Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing, 2. 142 Ibid., 8 and 20. 143 Ibid., 5. 144 Wilson, World in Venice, esp. ch. 2. 145 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 417. 146 For expulsion in relation to communitas, see Marin, ‘Semiotic Approach to Parade,’ 228; Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-​Structure (New York, 1969), 96–​97. 147 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 423. 148 Jones and Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing, 3–​4. 149 Ibid., 2; Ann Rosalind Jones and Peter Stallybrass, ‘Fetishizing the Glove in Renaissance Europe,’ Critical Inquiry 28 (2001): 117. 150 Robert Delort, Le commerce des fourrures en occident à la fin du Moyen Age (vers 1300–​vers 1450), Vol. I (Rome, 1978); Ruth Turner Wilcox, The Mode in Furs: The History of Furred Costume of the World from the Earliest Times to the Present (New York and London, 1951), 5 and 16–​17; Valerie Cumming, ‘ “Great Vanity and Excesse in Apparell”: Some Clothing and Furs of Tudor and Stuart Royalty,’ in The Late King’s Goods. Collections, Possessions, and Patronage of Charles I in the Light of the Commonwealth Sale Inventories, ed. Arthur MacGregor (London and Oxford, 1989), 328; Jacqueline Herald, Renaissance Dress in Italy 1400–​1500 (London and Atlantic Highlands, NJ, 1981), 215–​16; Musacchio, ‘Weasels and Pregnancy,’ 172. Ercole d’Este also appears in a manuscript illumination by Guglielmo Giraldo wearing the mantle. Giraldo was also responsible for some of the illumination of Federigo’s manuscripts, which included depictions of the Order’s collar, Andrea Pannonio’s, De origine domus Estensis in Modena, BE Ms a.Q.9.12 Lat 108, 11r. See Manca, ‘Presentation of a Renaissance Lord,’ 530, Fig. 7. 151 ‘vna veste de scarllato infoderata de armellini la barrecta rossa conla reuersa delli armellini etportaua innmano lo scepto de argento.’ Giacomo, Cronica, 182. There are other examples of viewers picking up on ermine fur. In February 1459, the two Milanese ambassadors to Naples, Antonio di Trezzo and Francesco de Cusano, noted that King Ferrante, at his coronation, wore ‘a gown in green satin and on top, a mantle of crimson damask and gold, lined with ermines all the way to the ground.’ ASMI SPE 92, Letter of 10 February 1459.

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In March 1483 a celebration was held for Ferrante’s son, Don Federico and the Milanese ambassador also commented that Don Federico was dressed in a ‘mantle of crimson satin, lined with ermines, all the way to the ground.’ ASMI SPE 241,199. Letter of 1483 9 March, Branda da Castiliono to Duke of Milan. 152 See Chapter 2, which deals with many of these issues through the institution of pawning. Also see Randolph, ‘Performing the Bridal Body,’ 182–​200; McCall, ‘Brilliant Bodies.’ 153 Vitale, Araldica, 142; Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 425. 154 Vitale, Araldica, 142. 155 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, 425–​26. 156 Ibid., 411. 157 Randolph, ‘Performing the Bridal Body,’ 182–​200. 158 Martines, Power and Imagination, 233. 159 As recorded to Milanese ambassadors, ASMI SPE 220. 6 and 224, 50; to the French ambassador, ASMI SPE 227, 198; to the Hungarian ambassador Filangieri, Documenti, 5, 126. 160 Barone, ‘Cedole ASPN IX,’ 604. 161 ASMI SPE 223. Letter dated 6 October 1472. 162 Quoted in Bryant, ‘Affection and Loyalty,’ 77. Jewellery was also displayed in treasuries to show to visitors at important events such as births. See Helfenstein, ‘Lorenzo’s Magnificent Cups,’ 434–​36. 163 G. de Caro, ‘Avalos, Inigo,’ in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, ed. Alberto Maria Ghisalberti (Rome, 1976), 635–​36. 164 ‘…Havemo visto lo collaro doro ha ma[n]‌dato adonare v[ostra] ex.tia ala mag[nifi]ca contessa camerlenga, la quale e stata sola conte[n]teza et co[n]solacione ch[e] havemo havuta in questo capo danno et meritam[en]te ne havemo recevuta alegreza gran[dissi]ma per molti rispecti prima ch[e] qua no[n] se ragiona ne resona alt[ro] laude ch[e] la liberalita et magnificente de v[ostra] s[ignoria] dela quale cosa n[on] poteriamo exprimere qua[n]to piacer[e] ne pigliamo p[er] la gloria dele virtu de v[ostra] […] Appresso p[er] el sign[o]re amore portamo al s[ignor] conte et  ala contessa per li quali ne piazuto piu tal p[rese]nte ch[e] fe decemilia volte lo havessemo recevuto noi et se alamore et servitu ch[e] portiamo a v[ostra] ex[cellen]tia.’ ASMI SPE 226, 202. This letter is referenced briefly in Welch, ‘Between Milan,’ 133. 165 SPE 226, 215. Welch, ‘Between Milan,’ 133. 166 ASMI SPE 227, 181. 167 For instance, the mysterious Z˚ appears providing information during negotiations for the Sforza-​Aragonese divorce, and Eleonora d’Aragona’s betrothal to Ercole d’Este, see ASMI SPE 221, 82 and 125, letters from 25 February 1472, and 20 March 1472, ASMI SPE 222, 108–​9, Letter of 15 June 1472. Z˚ is also recorded repeatedly meeting with Ippolita 1471, see ASMI SPE 220, 169 and 172. Letters of 19 and 24 December 1471. Z˚ also supplied information regarding the Turk in 1473, ASMI SPE 224, 206, Letter of 13 September 1473. 168 ‘…el Z.˚ glie utile qua & se p[er] el passato ello ve e stato utile & necessario molto piu credo ch[e]‌serra per lavenire andar[e] le cose como vede andare v[ostra] ex[cellen]tia. Unde a Madonna vra’ sor.la pare debeati tenere dicto z˚: piu edificato sia po.le perch/​[e] essendose firmato luy qua como e & haven[do] modo de piscare al fondo no[n] se tractara cosa tanto secreta & importante chesso no[n] lintenda & no[n] la significhi a v[ostra] s[ignoria] o per via mia o daltri ch[e] serra qui per quella. Como altre volte fu dicto a v[ostra] ex[celen] tia el dicto z˚ havea gran desiderio ch[e] la v. cel. Donasse uno collaro doro a la donna sua […]Luy questa demonstratione de amarlo & haverlo caro per cavare il predicto fructo da esso cioe del collaro ma quando gli statuisti ogne anno una Provisione secreta d[i] cc o ccc duc[a]ti non] ve saria sen[z]o utilissima spexa.’ ASMI SPE 227, 181. 169 Welch, ‘Between Milan.’ 170 Wilkins Sullivan, ‘Three Ferrarese Panels’; Allen et  al., ‘Catalogue,’ xxxiii, Cats. VI–​VIII; Manca, Art of Ercole, 133–​40; Joseph Manca, ‘Constantia et Forteza:  Eleonora d’Aragona’s Famous Matrons,’ Source: Notes in the History of Art 19, no. 2 (2000): 13–​20; Margaret Franklin, Boccaccio’s Heroines: Power and Virtue in Renaissance Society (Aldershot, UK, 2006), 115–​48.

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171 The panels were originally suggested to have formed part of the decoration of cassoni made for Isabella d’Este’s marriage, for which Ercole de’ Roberti received payments. The Este provenance of the Lucrezia panel, recorded in the inventory of Cardinal Alessandro d’Este, however, suggests that they stayed in Ferrara. Manca, Art of Ercole, 59–​60, 138; Campori, Cataloghi ed inventarii, 72. 172 Foresti, De claris mulieribus (BL), folio CLXIv. Goggio’s Laudibus mulierum was in Eleonora’s library according to her inventory, ASMO G114,137R, see appendix. For Goggio, see Werner Gundersheimer, ‘Bartolommeo Goggio:  A Feminist in Renaissance Ferrara,’ Renaissance Quarterly xxxii, no. 2 (1980): 175–​200; Conor Fahy, ‘Three Early Renaissance Treatises on Women: “De Laudibus Mulierum” by Bartolomeo Gogio; “De Mulieribus” by Mario Equicola; “Defensio Mulierum” by Agostino Strozzi,’ Italian Studies 11 (1956): 30–​55; O’Leary, ‘Three Literary Texts,’ 285–​307. 173 Wilkins Sullivan, ‘Three Ferrarese Panels,’ 610. 174 The catalogue from the Roberti Exhibition and Dora Thornton, Luke Syson, and Stephen Campbell have all supported the reference to the Order of the Ermine, see Allen et al., ‘Catalogue,’ xxxiii; Syson and Thornton, Objects of Virtue, 19–​20; Campbell, Cabinet of Eros, 68. Manca and Franklin refute the connection, Franklin, Boccaccio’s Heroines, 135–​36; Manca, ‘Constantia et Forteza,’ 17. This is also queried by others, Bayer, Art and Love, 311 n. 12; Creighton E.  Gilbert, ‘Lucretia, Portia, Hasdrubal’s Wife, and Their Husbands,’ Annali dell’Università di Ferrara 3 (2002): 183–​204. 175 Virginia Cox, ‘Gender and Eloquence in Ercole de’ Roberti’s Portia and Brutus,’ Renaissance Quarterly 62, no. 1 (2009): 61–​101. 176 Wilkins Sullivan, ‘Three Ferrarese Panels,’ 610–​11. 177 Franklin, Boccaccio’s Heroines, 132–​36. 178 Manca, ‘Constantia et Forteza,’ 17. 179 Franklin, Boccaccio’s Heroines, 145; Bayer, Art and Love, 310. 180 Wilkins Sullivan, ‘Three Ferrarese Panels,’ 613. 181 Manca, ‘Constantia et Forteza,’ 17. For the coup led by Niccolò see Gundersheimer, Ferrara, 180–​81. The local chronicler provides details on the war with Venice, Giuseppe Pardi, ‘Diario ferrarese dell’anno 1409 sino al 1502 di autori incerti,’ Rerum italicarum scriptores 24.7, no. vi (1928): 98–​118. 182 Wilkins Sullivan, ‘Three Ferrarese Panels,’ 612. 183 Franklin, Boccaccio’s Heroines, 145. 184 Cox, ‘Gender and Eloquence,’ 64–​65. 185 For attributions see Manca, Art of Ercole, 138, Cat. 17c. 186 Wilkins Sullivan, ‘Three Ferrarese Panels,’ 612–​13. 187 Franklin, Boccaccio’s Heroines, 138. 188 Ibid., 142. 189 For the republican overtones see ibid., 143. 190 Wilkins Sullivan,‘Three Ferrarese Panels,’ 624;Allen et al.,‘Catalogue,’ xxxiii; Gundersheimer, ‘Women, Learning: Eleonora,’ 54; Manca, ‘Constantia et Forteza,’ 19. 191 Cox, ‘Gender and Eloquence,’ 81. 192 Quoted in John Shearman, Mannerism (Middlesex, UK, 1967), 166. 193 Gundersheimer, Ferrara, 176–​77. 194 Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 9–​11. Ercole d’Este is reported to be depicted on the bronze doors at the Castel Nuovo in Naples on the enemy side. 195 ‘uno armelino doro dapertura nel boneto’ ASMO AP 639, 131R, July 1489. For Trullo’s decorations see Tuohy, Herculean Ferrara, 411. 196 Cox, ‘Gender and Eloquence,’ 81. 197 Foresti, De claris mulieribus (BL); Richard Schofield, ‘A Humanist Description of the Architecture for the Wedding of Gian Galeazzo Sforza and Isabella D’Aragona (1489),’ Papers of the British School at Rome 56 (1988): 221.

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NOTES TO PAG E S 2 0 5 – 2 1 4

198 Chrysa Damianaki, The Female Portrait Busts of Francesco Laurana (Rome, 2000), 83–​91 and 197–​98. 199 Hersey, Artistic Renewal of Naples, 35–​43. 200 Damianaki, Female Portrait Busts, 197–​98. 201 Chartier, Inscription, viii, ix. Also see Chartier, Forms and Meanings. 202 ASMI SPE 323, 110, 161, and 162. CONCLUSION

1 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 165–​66 and see Docs. 269–​71. 2 Gennaioli, Pregio e bellezza. 3 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 128; Ulrico Pannuti, ‘La “Tazza Farnese”: Datazione, interpreteazione e trasmissione del cimelio,’ in Technology and Analysis of Ancient Gemstones/​ Technologie et analyse des gemmes anciennes, ed. Tony Hackens and Ghislaine Moucharte (Riensart, Belgium, 1989), 205–​15; Marina Belozerskaya, Medusa’s Gaze: The Extraordinary Journey of the Tazza Farnese (Oxford, 2012). It is also possible that Uzun Hasan never owned it, but obtained a copy of it, or the artist had access to a copy, as many precious gems were known through their copies. 4 Michael J. Rogers, ‘ “The Gorgeous East”: Trade and Tribute in the Islamic Empires,’ in Circa 1492: Art in the Age of Exploration, ed. Jay A. Levenson (Washington, DC, New Haven, CT, and London, 1991), 73; Thomas W.  Lentz and Glenn Lowry, Timur and the Princely Vision: Persian Art and Culture in the Fifteenth Century (Los Angeles, 1989), 221 (Cat. 150). 5 Michael Werner and Bénédicte Zimmermann, ‘Beyond Comparison: Histoire Croisée and the Challenge of Reflexivity,’ History and Theory 45, no. 1 (2006): 30–​50. 6 There are, of course, exceptions. Jardine and Brotton in their well-​known book discussed the early exchanges with the Byzantine emperor in Ferrara, which has become standard when discussing any fifteenth-​ century cross-​ cultural relations, Jardine and Brotton, Global Interests. Also see Antonia Gatward Cevizli, ‘Bellini, Bronze and Bombards: Sultan Mehmed II’s Requests Reconsidered,’ Renaissance Studies 28, no. 5 (2014): 748–​65; Antonia Gatward Cevizli, ‘Mehmed II, Malatesta and Matteo De’ Pasti: A Match of Mutual Benefit between the “Terrible Turk” and a “Citizen of Hell”,’ Renaissance Studies 30, no. 1 (2015): 430–​65; Sean E.  Roberts, Printing a Mediterranean World:  Florence, Constantinople, and the Renaissance of Geography (Cambridge, 2013); Sean E. Roberts, ‘The Lost Map of Matteo de’ Pasti: Cartography, Diplomacy, and Espionage in the Renaissance Adriatic,’ Journal of Early Modern History 20, no. 1 (2016): 19–​31.Venice, of course, features prominently in any literature on fifteenth-​century cross-​cultural relations, but it is not a court. 7 This approach, of course, is not new, but it has been largely neglected for the fifteenth century. Comparative studies have also varied in their successfulness. A pioneer of connected histories, especially in the courts, Subahmanyam has argued since the 1990s for work that cuts across national boundaries, while also revealing the possible pitfalls of comparison. See Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ‘Connected Histories: Notes Towards a Reconfiguration of Early Modern Eurasia,’ Modern Asian Studies 31, no.  3 (1997):  735–​62; Sanjay Subrahmanyam, Courtly Encounters: Translating Courtliness and Violence in Early Modern Eurasia (Cambridge and London, 2012). 8 Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici, 203. 9 Elettro refers to a silver-​gold alloy, a material used in Greek coinage. Presumably, Pontano is referring to a sort of coin-​shaped plaquette, with a carved or imprinted fly depicted on it. Alcide Giallonardi, ed., Dizionario Larousse dell’antiquariato: Maggiore e minore (Rome, 1991). 10 Pontano, Virtù sociali, 213.Also partially quoted in English inWelch,‘Public Magnificence,’ 212. 11 See, for example, Brown, ‘Thing Theory’; Daston, ‘Speechless.’ 12 Perfume burners are mentioned in both Eleonora’s and Lorenzo’s inventories. For Eleonora see ASMO G114, 150R; AP 638, 18R. For Lorenzo, see Fusco and Corti, Lorenzo de’ Medici,

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382, 384. Amongst Strozzi’s possessions divided among his heirs is a ‘a metal perfume burner alla domaschina.’ Marco Spallanzani, Ceramiche orientali a Firenze nel Rinascimento (Florence, 1978), 169–​70 (Doc. 25). For ‘Veneto-​Saracenic’ metalwork in general see Doris Behrens-​ Abouseif, ‘Veneto-​Saracenic Metalware,’ Mamluk Studies Review 9, no.  2 (2005):  147–​72; Anna Contadini, ‘Translocation and Transformation:  Some Middle Eastern Objects in Europe,’ in The Power of Things and the Flow of Cultural Transformations:  Art and Culture between Europe and Asia, ed. Lieselotte E. Saurma-​Jeltsch and Anja Eisenbess (Berlin, 2010), 42–​64; Anna Contadini, ‘Threads of Ornament in the Style World of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries,’ in Histories of Ornament: From Global to Local, ed. Gülru Necipoglu and Alina Payne (Princeton, NJ, 2016), 290–​308. 13 Jeroen Frans Jozef Duindam, Tülay Artan, and Metin Kunt, Royal Courts in Dynastic States and Empires: A Global Perspective (Leiden, The Netherlands, 2011), 1.

285

PRIMARY ARCHIVAL SOURCES

ARCHIVES CONSULTED AND ABBREVIATIONS

In cases in which it is useful, I have included the specific busta (box) number with headings to facilitate further research. All busta numbers as well as page numbers or letter numbers, when available, are cited in the text. However, some letters found in one buste are sometimes given the same number (particularly in Milan). Letter numbers listed in footnotes are meant to be a guide rather than an absolute reference. ASF: Archivio di Stato di Firenze CS: Carteggio Strozziane ASFE: Archivio di Stato di Ferrara Archivio Bentivoglio ASMA: Archivio di Stato di Mantova AG: Archivio Gonzaga ASMO: Archivio di Stato di Modena AE: Archivio Estense AMB: Ambasciatori AMB FIR: Ambasciatori Firenze AMB MIL: Ambasciatori Milano AMB NAP: Amba­sciatori Napoli AP: Amministrazione dei Principi Buste 631–​640 include all of Eleonora d’Aragona’s inventories and account books AT: Arrazi e Tapezaria CG: Conto Generale C&S: Casa e Stato C&P: Castaldarie e Possessione CPE: Carteggio Principi Esteri 1245/​1 Ferrante I 1451–​93 1246/​2 Alfonso d’Aragona Duke of Calabria 1468–​94 1247/​3 Ippolita Sforza 1478–​88 1248/​4 lettere di altri principi minori (including Matalona (Madaloni) (i.e., Diomede Carafa) 1472–​1686) CR: Carteggio di Referendari (Cancelleria) G: Guardaroba 114:  Inventory of 1493 of Eleonora d’Aragona, taken after her death (previously AP 640bis) I&S: Intrata e Spesa LCD: Libri Camerali Diversi

285

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Primary A rchival S ources

M: Mandati Mem: Memoriale M&F: Munitione e Fabbriche Tex: Texoreria ASMI: Archivio di Stato di Milano SPE: Sforzesco Potenze Estere Buste 200–​250: Napoli, from the years 1459–​92 Buste 323–​334: Ferrara, from the years 1471–​94 SPS: Sforzesco Potenze Sovrane ASNA: Archivio di Stato di Napoli (Most of the court records were destroyed in World War II, although there exist some fragments. Also see Barone’s various transcriptions from the nineteenth century.) TGA: Tesoreria Generale Antica TA: Tesoreria Antica (Cedole) (TGA) F: Frammenti (TGA) Arch. Carafa: Archivio Carafa di Maddaloni e di Colubrano Library Abbreviations BA: Biblioteca Ariostea, Ferrara BAV: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Rome BE: Biblioteca Estense, Modena BL: British Library, London BNN: Biblioteca Nazionale di Napoli BNF: Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris Manuscripts Ital 1583–​91 contain fifteenth-​century court letters from Milan

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313

314

315

INDEX

Abundance, see gems and jewels account books Amministrazione dei Principi (AP) 638, 5–​8 in Ferrara, 8 as sources see also inventories, Zigliolo, guardarobiere Acres, Alfred, 129 actants, 13, 14, 15, 57, 216 Actor Network Theory (ANT), 13–​14, 26, 57 Aemilianus, Scipio, 203 agnus dei, 122 Alberti, Leon Battista, 30, 105, 106, 117, 119 De pictura, 119 De re aedifi catoria, 119 Aldimari, Biagio, 38 Aldobrandini, Pietro, 271n144 Alighieri, Dante Divina Commedia, 188, 190 Allen, Denise, 129 altarpieces, 10, 28, 69, 70, 113, 122, 123, 125, 130, 132, 137, 142, 143, 146, 275n24 Eleonora’s collection, 137 by Filippo Lippi, 28, 60, 69 alum ambassadors Burgundian, 172 Ferrarese see Antonio Montecatini, Paolo Antonio Trotti Florentine see Guidoni Aldobrandio, Giovanni Lanfredini, Francesco Galiotto, Lorenzo de’ Medici French, 247n148, 281n159 Hungarian, 247n148, 281n159

Milanese see Francesco Maleta, Giovanni Andrea Cagnola, Antonio de Trezzo Neapolitan see Antonio Cicinello, Bartolomeo da Recanati, Marino Tomacello trade deal with Naples and Medici, 34–​36, 69 Venetian see Zaccaria Barbaro amicizie, 53 Andreas, Giovanni, 33 Anjou, Jean d’, 165 antagonism, 19, 20 Anthony of Burgundy, 31, 172 antiquities 21, 28, 29, 36, 37, 39, 40–​45, 47, 50, 53–​55, 67, 70, 73, 74, 84, 86, 91–​95, 101, 103, 104, 106, 110, 111, 120, 155, 211, 212. See also gems and jewels marble heads, 67 Appadurai, Arjun, 13, 79 Appian, 203 Punic Wars, 203 Aquino, Antonella d’, 198 Aragona, Alfonso d’ (Alfonso I, also Alfonso V), 18, 19, 20, 28, 31, 44, 47, 49, 60, 64, 65, 68, 71, 72, 73, 81, 96, 97, 100, 102, 164, 167, 169, 170, 172, 176, 181, 194, 197, 209, 211, 213, 275n24 gift from Medici, 28 copy of Livy’s Roman History, 90 portrait of, 169, 182 unfinished portrait of, 42 Aragona, Alfonso d’ (Alfonso II), 6, 19, 20, 28, 49, 68, 83, 96, 173, 181 Aragona, Beatrice d’, 103, 183, 184, 185f40, 200, 205

315

316

316

I ndex

Aragona, Eleonora d’, 1, 5, 6, 8, 10, 11, 12, 19, 20, 31, 32, 37, 38, 48, 68, 72, 73, 78, 82, 101, 103, 105–​08, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 120, 121, 122, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 136, 162, 197, 203, 204, 205, 210, 213, 214 collections, 4, 120–​24, 125, 137, 143, 151, 201, 202, 203, 211 collections, forms of citation in, 152–​56 library, 124, 136, 137, 138, 141, 151, 172, 197, 198, 199, 200 Maries, images of, 123 paintings, 137 religious paintings, 134 studioli, 136, 200 Aragona, Federico d’, 65, 68, 172, 186 Aragona, Ferdinando II d’, 181 Aragona, Ferrante d’, 4, 17, 18, 19, 20, 28, 30, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 41, 42, 44, 45, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 53, 54, 59, 64, 65, 66, 67, 69, 81, 99, 101, 102, 165, 168, 181, 182 alliance with Pope Sixtus IV, 19 bestowing the Order of the Ermine on Federigo da Montefeltro, 194, also Plate VIII exchange of horses, 48 Order of the Ermine. See Order of the Ermine  portrait of, 51, 52f5, 167, 169, 181, 184, 185, 186f41, 187f42, 188f43, 194, Plate viii Aragona, Giovanna d’, 18, 108 Aragona, Giovanni d’, 68, 112 Aragona, Isabella d’, 10, 20, 190, 205 Aragona, Lucrezia d’, 187 Aragonese, vi, 3, 4, 11, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 34, 37, 45, 46, 47, 51, 53, 54, 64, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 77, 78, 80, 89, 90, 96, 97, 100, 114, 163, 164, 165, 168, 169, 170, 172, 173, 174, 176, 177, 177f32, 178f33, 179, 181, 181f37, 183, 184, 187, 190, 196, 198, 205, 206, 212, 245n126, 246n128, 246n129, 246n138, 247n160, 247n166, 247n177, 251n25, 254n87, 260n183, 260n184, 263n247, 277n81, 277n82, 277n83, 277n84,

277n85, 277n86, 277n87, 277n88, 277n89, 278n101, 278n102, 278n92, 281n167, see also Aragona Aragonese Arch, 177f32, 178f33 Archivio di Stato di Modena, 1 Archivio di Stato di Napoli, 42, 260n182 asceticism, 139, 153, 155, 157 assembly, collection as, 156–​57 Attavanti, Attavante degli, 90, 91f13 auction, 103, 104, 149 authorial artistic models, 143 Avalos, Innico d’ (Count of Monteoderisio), 198 Azzia, Pirro d’ (Bishop of Pozzuoli), 194 balassio, 101, 102. See also gems and jewels Barbaro, Zaccaria, 31, 36–​37, 74, 171 Barkan, Leonard, 55 Baron’s Revolt, 20, 51, 162, 181, 194, 205 Battista Sforza, 127 Battle of Ischia, 51, 77, 165. See also Tavola Strozzi Battle of Troia, 175 Baxandall, Michael, 13 bejewelled cross, 105–​8. See also crocetta Belfiore studiolo, 115, 116, 200 Bellincioni, Bernardo, 192 Bembo, Illuminata, 131 Bendedei, Battista, 105, 106, 107, 108 Benedetto Salutati and Company, 82, 256n108 Bennett, Jane, 13 Vibrant matter, 14 Berger, Harry, 161 Bernardino, 37, 38, 73 Bernardino Curiale, 38 Berruguete, Pedro, 161f28 Beschi, Luigi, 44 Bibles, 124 Billi, Antonio, 42 Boccaccio, Giovanni, 134, 135, 156, 202, 203, 204 De Casibus Virorum Illustrium, 203 De mulieribus claris, 202 Genealogia, 134 Boiardo, Matteo Maria, 31 Bolzoni, Lina, 273n177 Books of Hours, 124, 125, 126 Borrelli, Licia Vlad, 43, 44

317

317

I ndex

Borromei, Carlo, 101 Borsook, Eve, 35 Botticelli, Sandro Portrait of a Woman, 94 breviaries, 124 Broccadelli, Lucia, 154 Brotton, Jerry, 283n6 Brown, Bill, 13 Brutus, Junius, 203, 204 buffone, 35, 36, 37–​38 Bulifon, Antonio, 24f4, 41, 51, 56, 178f33 Buonconti, Bartolomeo, 69 Burckhardt, Jacob, 18 Burgundian Court, 124 Butters, Humphrey, 34, 49 Caglioti, Francesco, 45, 70 Cagnola, Giovanni Andrea, 48 Camera Apostolica, 36 camerino, 78 Campbell, Stephen, 116, 118, 119, 120, 129, 154 Capaccio, Giulio Cesare, 181, 184 Il  forastiero, 40, 167, 275n30 Neapolitanae Historiae 278n98 Capecelatro, Francesco, 41 Carafa, Diomede, 3, 25, 27, 30, 33, 48, 67, 72, 73, 207, 212 buffone of. See buffone Count of Maddaloni, 30 De istitutione vivendi, 183 Ippolita’s recommendation to gift, 31 and Lorenzo de’ Medici, 27–​38, 54 Memoriali, 30, 37 palazzo in the Seggio di Nido, 30, 47. See also Palazzo Carafa power and wealth, 31 role in Sforza–​Ercole d’Este wedding, 31 roles at court, 30 as a second king, 31, 36, 37, 67 Carafa, Francesco, 43 Carafa, Galeotto, 172 Carafa, Giovanni, 47 Carafa, Oliviero, 28, 56 Carafa, Roberta, 42 Carafa, Tommaso, 54 Carbone, Ludovico, 117 cassoni, 74, 81, 83, 192 Castiglione, Baldassare, 16, 140 Il cortegiano, 116

Catalans, 29, 64, 68, 69 cavalli coins, 51–​53, 52f5, 52f6, 58, 181 Celano, Carlo, 41, 42 Delle notizie del bello, dell’antico e del curioso della città di Napoli, 41 Celenza, Christopher, 117, 140 Cellini’s saltcellar, 100 Cennini, Piero, 78 centaur, 84, 259n168 Charles VIII, 20 Chartier, Roger, 140, 206 Cheles, Luciano, 186, 187 Chellino, Antonio, 44 Chiaramonte, Isabella, 132, 174, 205 Chrysoloras, Manuel, 54 Ciampolini, Giovanni, 94 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 26, 64, 66, 99, 134 Cicinello, Antonio, 197 Cinico, Joan Marco, 194 citation, 51, 63, 139, 140, 141, 152–​156, 207 Climacus, John Ladder of Divine Ascent, 153 Codice Petrei, 42 Codice Strozziano, 42 Colantuono, Anthony, 26 collections collectors and collecting, 1, 4, 11–​13, 53–​57, 60, 72, 84, 92, 95, 102–​104, 109, 110, 115, 117, 119, 121, 122, 127, 139, 140, 143, 154, 155 display of, 28, 50, 53, 55, 79, 85, 95, 113, 120, 121, 124, 139, 208 religious objects in 6, 100, 113, 122–​6, 133, 134, 136, 156, 201, 221 spaces of collections, 139 visitors to 24, 31, 43, 55, 58, 63, 87, 101, 112, 113, 116, 122, 125, 127, 156, 209 women and, 12, 72, 73, 96, 100, 121, 122 see also antiquities, Eleonora d’Aragona, gems and jewels, studiolo Collenuccio, Pandolfo, 40 commodities, 5, 15, 30, 108–​11, 212 Compagnia di Battuti Neri, 154 condottieri, 18 Conrad IV, King (Re Corrado), 39 consumerism, 3, 13, 15, 61, 62, 121, 215 Contareno, Jacopo, 113

318

318

I ndex

Contessa Camerlinga. See Aquino, Antonella d’ Contrario, Andrea Reprehensio sive objurgatio in calumniatorem divini Platonis, 182 Coppola, Francesco, 28, 29 copying, 15, 16, 29, 41, 42, 43, 73, 84, 85, 88, 90, 92, 94, 95, 118, 139, 142, 143, 151, 153, 167, 214 Corniuole, Giovanni delle, 208 Corpo di Christo, vi, 124, 130, 131, 132, 269n86, 269n87 Corpus Christi procession, 115, 130, 131 Corpus Domini convent, 114, 116, 130, 131 Corti, Gino, 44 Corvinus, Matthias, 90, 184, 205 Costa, Lorenzo, 149f24 Palla Strozzi, 144, 149f24 counter-​gifts, 5, 30, 35, 37, 38, 170, 171, 212 court culture, 11–​17, 116, 209 Covi, Dario, 82 Cox,Virginia, 202, 204 credit, 61, 96, 102, 212 definitions, 62 and identity, 62 Crivelli, Taddeo, 126 crocetta, 105, 108, 213 cross-​cultural entanglements, 210 cross-​cultural exchange and transfer, 210, 215 cultural objects, 62, 109 cumulative identity, 51 Cusani, Francesco, 172 da Barberino, Luigi, 92 da Bisticci,Vespasiano, 66, 70, 82, 87 Vita di Niccolò Niccoli, 86 da Maiano, Benedetto, 63, 78, 79, 80, 83, 84, 189f44, 189f45 da Maiano bottega, 78 da Maiano, Giuliano, 28, 29, 38, 74, 78, 80, 82, 83, 84, 189f44, 189f45 da Montefeltro, Federigo, 18, 103, 127, 165, 169, 186, 188, 190, 193, 194, plate VIII portrait of, 161–​62, 161f28, 186 da Montefeltro, Guidobaldo, 161, 187, 188 da Recanati, Bartolomeo, 31 da Sangallo, Giuliano, 28–​29, 38, 69 da Siena, Angelo, 120 da Todi, Jacopone, 132

da Vinci, Leonardo, 45–​46, 87, 127, 190 Manuscript H, 159 portrait of Cecilia Gallerani, 192 The Ermine as Symbol of Purity, 191f46 Treatise on Painting, 118, 135 da Volterra, Joampiero Leostello, 83, 170 Effermidi, 169 Damianaki, Chrysa, 206 Daston, Lorraine, 25 David, Gerard, 94 Davit, see gems and jewels de Belloprato, Simonetto, 194 de Divitiis, Bianca, 29, 42, 47 de Magistris, Francesco, 41 de Meiya, Conte, 173 de Méré, Chevalier, 138, 156 De politia litteraria. See Decembrio, Angelo De Rinaldis, Aldo, 43 de Sereno, Iacomo, 97 de Trezzo, Antonio, 96 De visione Dei, 133 de Viviano, Michelangelo, 208 de’ Benci, Ginevra, portrait of, 127 de’ Medici, Alessandro, 211 de’ Medici, Giovanni, 28, 60, 69, 70 de’ Medici, Giuliano, 19, 36 de’ Medici, Lorenzo, 3, 5, 19, 27, 28, 29, 32, 33, 36, 37, 45, 47, 48, 66, 67, 69, 83, 84, 85, 89, 90, 92, 98, 102, 207, 209, 211, 212, 214 and Diomede Carafa, 27–​38 and Ferrante, 34 and Naples, 34 negotiation with Ferrante, 19 as negotiator and diplomat, 36 Ricordi, 85, 87 seizure of Paul II’s property, 36 Tazza Farnese, 103 trip to Rome, 36 visits to Naples, 32, 35 de’ Medici, Pierfrancesco, 79, 80, 82 de’ Medici, Piero di Cosimo, 97, 109 de’ Roberti, Ercole, 10, 115, 119, 122, 123, 132, 153, 157, 214, 282n171 Dead Christ, 143 diptych. See Roberti’s diptych Famous Women, 198–​206 Lucrezia, Brutus and Collatinus, 201f49, 203–​4

319

319

I ndex

Portia and Brutus, 199f47, 202, 204 Saint Jerome, 137, 138f17, 154, 155 Wife of Hasdrubal and Her Children,The, 200f48, 203 with Gian Francesco Maineri, 201f49 Decembrio, Angelo, 116, 117 De politia litteraria (On Literary Refinement), 10, 116, 117, 118, 119, 134, 140, 141, 154 degli Arienti, Giovanni Sabadino, 7, 120, 122, 205 dei Pelizzari, Gigliolo, 10 dei Russi, Franco, 126 Dei, Benedetto, 79 del Balzo, Angilberto, 167 del Lavacchio, Salvestrino d’Antonio, 208 del Treppo, Mario, 66, 73, 77 Delamonce, Ferdinand, 43 della Francesca, Piero, 127 di Gaeta Bank, 64 di Geremia, Cristoforo, 93f14 di Guidoni, Guido, 106 di Miniato, Gherardo di Giovanni, 90 di Miniato, Monte di Giovanni, 88 di Piero, Lorenzo, 82 Diaz Garlon, Pasquale, 68 Diomedes and the Palladium, 84, 85, 86f10, 87, 92, see gems and jewels diplomacy, 17, 18, 26, 27, 32, 34, 57, 171, 206, 208 diplomatic gifts, 3, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 38, 57, 67, 69, 122, 173, 197, 209, 212, 214 Diptych of Josse van der Burch, 125 diptychs, 4, 211 devotional diptychs, 126 in Eleonora’s collection, 123 emphasis on visions, 129 folding images, 124–​30 Roberti’s diptych. See Roberti’s diptych secular diptychs, 126 and sensory aspects of devotion, 133 disegno, 120, 143 Dol, Thomas Missal, 91f13 Donatello, 23f3, 25, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46 David, 47, 85, 94 Gattamelata, 43, 44, 45, see also Horse’s head Donatone, Guido, 77

Dufay, Guillaume, 125 Dürer, Albrecht, 190 Elam, Caroline, 69 emblem books, 160 emblems, 14, 51, 90, 160, 163, 167, 173, 179, 181, 184, 192, 193, 196, 211, 212, 274n5, 7, 8. See also Giovio, Paolo emblematic reading, 4, 162, 163, 188, 202, 204, 206 emulation, 142 equestrian statues, significance of, 47–​53 Equicola, Mario, 135 Erasmus, 134 ermine, 158, 159, 192. See also Order of the Ermine in Cecilia Gallerani’s portrait, 192 dual symbolic meaning, 196 ermine medallion, Castel Nuovo, 175f30 Esch, Arnold, 63 Este, 8, 9, 115 Este, Alberto d’, 10, 48 Este, Alessandro d’, 282n171 Este, Alfonso d’, 38, 72, 115 Este, Beatrice d’, 10, 20, 154, 190 Este, Borso d’, 8, 11, 20, 48, 114, 116, 117, 126, 205 Este Diptych. See Roberti’s diptych Este, Ercole d’, 8, 10, 11, 20, 31, 46, 99, 102, 105, 106, 112, 114, 115, 116, 120, 123, 125, 154, 162, 171, 172, 197, 203, 204, 214, 280n150 Este, Isabella d’, 10, 38, 73, 102, 115, 121, 122, 213, 282n171 grotta, 122 Este, Leonello d’, 114, 115, 116, 131 Este, Niccolò d’, 10, 114, 203 Este, Sigismondo d’, 31 exchange/​exchanging, 1, 2, 4, 5, 12, 15, 16, 21, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 38, 47, 51, 56, 57, 209, 213 agents, 26 diplomatic gifts, 3 of horses, 48, 49, 50, 51, 55 of kula shells in the Western Pacific, 14 merchant bankers, see merchant bankers mode of, 211 obligations, 5 social exchanges, 3

320

320

I ndex

fabula, 4, 134–​36, 156, 160, 205. See also Roberti’s Diptych fantasia, 81, 120 Federigo da Montefeltro and His Son, 161f28 Guidobaldo, 161f28 Fernando, Don, 164 Ferrara, 1, 4, 5, 8, 10, 16, 20, 37, 68, 71, 72, 73, 82, 115 Castel Vecchio, 78, 82, 122 Eleonora d’Aragona’s apartments, see Aragona, Eleonora d’. See also Este Palazzo Diamante, 102 Roberti’s diptych. See Roberti’s diptych Ferrara school, Nativity, Milan, 147f22 Ferrara school, Nativity, Sotheby’s, 146f21 Ferrara/​Venice war, 20, 102, 106, 162 Ferrarese, 10, 72, 114, 119, 153, 154, 156 ambassadors, 28, 31, 98, 99, 100, 105, 108, 112, 156 humanistic culture, 10, 116, 117, 120, 135 Ferrarese, Anon, 8, 9 Virgin and Child, 9f2 Fichard, Johann, 44, 54 Filangieri, Gaetano, 39, 43 Filarete, Antonio, 92, 109 Trattato di Architettura, 87, 109 Findlen, Paula, 110, 160 Flemish paintings of the Madonna, 123 Florentine lettuccio, 62, 73, 74–​84 Florentine merchant bankers in Naples, 64–​65 Florentine ricordanze, 66 Flowers of Virtue, 159 Foppa, Caradosso, 87 Foresti, Jacopo Filippo De claris mulieribus, 200, 205 Formigli, Edilberto, 43 Francis I, King, 100 Franklin, Margaret, 201, 202, 203, 204 Furetière, Antonie, 62 furniture, 60, 81. See also lettuccio Fusco, Giuseppe Maria, 276n38 Fusco, Laurie, 44 Galiotto, Francesco, 106, 108 Gallerani, Cecilia, 192 portrait of, 192

Gattola, Luigi, 102 Gelli, Giovambattista, 42 Vite d’Artisti, 42 gems and jewels, 4, 110, 211 Abundance, 95 Apollo and Marsyas, 89, 89f12, 90, 91, 92, 93f15, 94 Athena and Poseidon, 84 balassio, 101, 102 casts of, 92 Chariot of Dionysus Led by Psychai, 84, 87, 88f11, 89, 90 circulation, replication, and transmission by merchant bankers, 84–​95 Daedalus and Icarus, 84 Diomedes and the Palladium, 84, 85, 86f10, 87, 92 Dionysus and the Satyr, 84 Dionysus gems, 90 Dionysus on a Chariot Led by Psychai, 85, 94 Dionysus with Ariadne and Naxos, 84, 89 Il Davit, 101, 108 Il Foghato, 101 Il Lupo, 101 Il Spigo, 101, 112 La Roccha, 101 La Sempreviva, 101 Lo Specchietto, 101 rosary beads, 122 Sigillo di Nerone, 92 triangolare, 102 Genoese, 64 Ghiberti, Lorenzo, 92 Commentaries, 86, 92 plaquettes of Apollo and Marsyas, 92, 93f15 Giacomo Notar, 196 Cronica di Napoli, 277n72 gifthorses, 50–​51 gifts/​gift giving, 5, 15, 26, 28, 38, 50, 53, 57, 67, 68, 109, 170, 212 between Florence and Naples, 28. See also horse’s head and commodities, 15 Gilio, Andrea, 204 Giovio, Paolo, 158, 166 Dialogo dell’imprese, 159f27

321

321

I ndex

Giraldi, Guglielmo, 190, 280n150 Giustiniani, Lorenzo, 43 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, 13–​14, 43 Goggio, Bartolommeo De laudibus mulierum, 200, 202 gold collar, 4, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 171, 172, 173, 175, 183, 184, 186, 188, 190, 193, 194, 197, 198, 207. See also Order of the Ermine Gondi, 29, 64, 71–​72, 200, 201, 202 Gondi, Antonio, 71, 105, 108 Gondi, Giuliano, 105, 106, 107, 108 Gonzaga, 48, 85 Gonzaga, Francesco, 48, 90, 102, 103 Gonzaga, Ludovico, 36 Grafton, Anthony, 140 guardarobiere, 8, 10. See also Zigliolo, Gironimo Guarino, 10, 11, 119 Guasconi, Benedetto, 69 Gubbio studiolo, 188 Guéret, Gabriel, 139 Guidoboni, Cavalchino, 33 Guidoni, Aldobrandio, 28 Hasdrubal, 203 wife of, 198, 202, 203, see also Roberti Hellman, Mimi, 81 Hersey, George, 17, 44, 175 Hilsdale, Cecily, 67 histoire croisée, 210 Hohenstaufen, Frederick II, 103, 209, 211 Holy See, 18, 33 horse race (palio), 48, 50 horse’s head (Carafa’s), 3, 22, 23f3, 25, 46, 60, 67, 212 and culture of collecting, 53–​56 as a gift of friendship, 32 as fragment, 26 colossal features, 24 as a diplomatic gift, 27 donation to the Museo Reale, 43 later histories of, 43–​47 literary life of, 39–​42 Neapolitan identity, 27 public display, 26 significance, 47–​53 thing given, agency of, 56–​58 unresolved details, 23

ideal courts, 21, 121 Il Davit, see gems and jewels Il Spigo, see gems and jewels Ilardi,Vincent, 32 imitation, 140, 142 imprese, 4, 39, 40, 41, 54, 81, 89, 90, 102, 158, 159, 162, 167, 168, 171, 172, 179, 181, 181f37, 183, 193, 194, 199, 204, 206, 254n87, 274n1. See also emblems and Order of the Ermine inalienable possessions, 51 indebtedness, 212 ingegno, 118, 119, 120, 143 Innocent VIII, Pope, 20 institutions and geographies, 16 intarsia, 78, 80, 82, 84, 110, 187, 254n86 intelletto, 120 international bankers, 64 intertextuality, 114, 116, 133, 136, 138, 139. See also Roberti’s Diptych invention, 12 inventory/ies, 1, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 12, 83, 87, 88, 113, 123, 125, 143, 149, 152, 153, 209, 211, 213, 217–34, 281, 221, 223 Ischia, 34, 35, 51, 77, 165 Italian League (Lega), 17, 19, 32, 33, 34 James, Thomas, 90 Jardine, Lisa, 61, 283n6 Jenson, Nicolaus, 88 jester. See buffone jewels. See gems and jewels Jones, Ann Rosalind, 195 Justus of Ghent, 161f28 Federigo da Montefeltro and His Son, Guidobaldo Keane, Webb, 12 Keblusek, Marika, 32 al-​Khayyam, Mohammed, 209 Kirkbride, Robert, 133, 188 Kopytoff, Igor, 13, 109 singularisation of goods, 109, 110 Landino, Cristoforo, 88 Landy, Michael Chest Beater, 157 Saint Jerome Beats his Breast, 157 Saints Alive, 157

322

322

I ndex

Landy, Michael (cont.) Sin Bin Machine, 157 Lane, Frederic, 64 Lanfredini, Giovanni, 35 Latour, Bruno, 13, 25, 26. See also Actor Network Theory Laurana, Francesco, 184, 205 Beatrice d’Aragona, 185f40 le Mason, Guglielmo, 100 lectio divino, 136 Leo of Rozmital, 101 lettucci, 3, 74–​84 lettuccio, 59–​60, 67, 75f7, 110, 181 decoration of, 74, 83 as gift to King Ferrante, 59–​60, 66–​67, 74 from Girolamo Savonarola’s Predica dell’arte del Bene morire, 76f8 from the Malermi Bible, 75f7, 81 Florentine Lettuccio in Naples, 74–​84 and Tavola Strozzi, 77–​78 as throne, 81 also see Benedetto da Maiano Lippi, Filippo, 28, 60, 69 literary paintings, 136 literature and painting, 119 livery, 195 lo Monaco, Guglielmo, 176f31 loans, 5, 15, 96, 102, 212 local deposit bankers, 64 Lodi Peace of, 17 Treaty of, 33 Lombard sculptors, 94 Lorenzo, Antonio di, 45 luxury objects, 15, 70, 79, 80 magnificence, 1, 5, 7, 8, 15, 62, 95, 96, 103, 115, 124, 213, 215 Maineri, Gian Francesco, 122, 123, 125, 137, 143, 144, 146, 147, 155, 149f24, 155, 267n46 Christ at the Sepulchre, 151f25 Lucrezia, Brutus and Collatinus, 201f49 Nativity,The, 145f20, 148f23 Pala Strozzi, 145, 149f24 Resurrected Christ with an Angel, The, 152f26 Malermi Bible, see lettuccio

Maleta, Francesco, 34, 48, 98, 171, 173, 197, 198 Mamluks, 214, 215, see also Qaitbay Manca, Joseph, 149, 202 Mantegna, Andrea, 4, 123, 136, 142, 144, 153, 213 Adoration of the Shepherds,The, 69, 141, 141f18, 145, 146, 148 Manuel, King, 90 Margaret of Austria’s inventories, 126 Martorelli, Baldo, 73 Mary of Burgundy, 172 Marzano, Giovanni Battista, 205 Marzano, Marino, 18, 165, 174 materialism, 61 materiality, 13, 21 Mattingly, Garrett, 25 Mauss, Marcel, 25, 56 Maximilian I, 172, 190 Maximus,Valerius, 202, 203 Memorable Acts and Sayings of the Ancient Romans, 201 Mazzella, Scipione, 167, 184 Le vite dei re di Napoli, 184, 188f43 Mazzoni, Guido, 184 Ferrante d’Aragona, 186f41 Lamentation, 169 Medal of Paul II commemorating the Pace d’Italia, 93f14 Medici bank, 29, 36, 68–​71 in Naples, 35, see also de’ Medici Medici courtyard medallions, 84, 87 Medici horse’s head, 44, 46 memento mori, 1, 5, 7, 8, 11, 155, 213 merchant bankers, 3, 29, 60–​62, 64, 212 circulation of goods, 74–​95 clients and consumers, 72–​74 commodity and sémiophore, 108–​11 Florentine Lettuccio in Naples, 74–​84 Flotentine and Neapolitan networks, 63 fraught relations, 105–​8 gems and jewels circulation, replication, and transmision, 84–​95, also see gems and jewels Gondi Company, 71–​72 Medici Bank, 68–​71 pawning, 95–​104 Strozzi Bank, 65–​68 Mezzo Carlino, 182f38, 183f39

323

323

I ndex

Michael, Archangel, 168, 179, 184 Michelangelo, 87 Michelozzi, 94 Michiel, Marcantonio, 42 Modena, 82 modern capitalism, 61 Monaco, Guglielmo, 174 Montecatini, Antonio, 112 Montefeltro of Urbino, 186. See also da Montefeltro, Federigo Montefeltro studioli, 133 Moores, John, 32, 49 Morelli, Lorenzo di Matteo, 80 Mueller, Reinhold, 64 Museo Nazionale in Naples, 44 Muses, 120 mute diplomacy, 26, 214 muteness, 15 Nacci (Medici), 64 Nagel, Alexander, 143 naming jewels, 262n213. See also gems and jewels. Naples, 16 Castel Capuana, 83 Castel Nuovo, 18, 44, 94, 159, 165, 166f29, 169, 176–​79, 176f31, 179f34, 180f35, 180f36, 181f37 La Duchesca, 165 lack of scholarship on Naples, 17 Medici bank in, 34 Neapolitan court and merchant bankers, 72–​74 Poggioreale, 83, 181 Porta Capuana, 83 San Domenico Maggiore, 170 Santa Maria Monteoliveto (Sant’Anna dei Lombardi), 167, 169, 170, 184 seggi (quarters or neighbourhoods) in Naples, 18 Seggio (quarter) of the Nido, 27 Seggio di Capuana, 40 Via San Biagio dei Librai, 23 Nero’s seal. See gems and jewels, Apollo and Marsyas new diplomacy, 25, 65 Niccoli, Niccolò, 87 Niccolini, Otto, 49

Nicholas of Cusa, 133, 135 Nicholas V, Pope, 33 Noldus, Badeloch, 32 Nori, Francesco, 256n108 object knowledge, 12, 14, 79, 99, 108, 211, 213 objects accruing value, 13 biographies, 95, 103, 108, 110, 211 circulation of, xi, 1, 3, 4, 6, 12, 16, 29, 50, 51, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 71, 72, 74–​95, 96, 103, 104, 105, 108, 110, 208, 209, 210, 212 at court, 3, 21, 208, 209, 210 rarity, and value, 214 as residual, 12 symbolic activities, and, 3 symbolic objects, 13 theoretical approaches to, 11 thing given, agency of, 56–​58 things that matter, 25 virtuous objects, 213, 215 obligation in gift exchange, 5, 21, 26, 28, 56, 57, 60, 69, 72, 106, 164, 169, 170, 171, 173, 190, 206–​7, 212 Order of Saint George, 172 Order of Saint Michael the Archangel, 275n30 Order of the Ermine, 80, 90, 158, 160–​63, 164–​68, 214 allegorical representations of, 198–​206, 199f47, 200f48, 201f49 armellini, 181 ‘Armellino’, 182f38, 183f39 Capo, 168, 169, 173 cappella, 170 ceremonial, 193–​98 chiesa, 170 cloak/​mantle, 161–​62, 164–​5, 167, 193–​6, 207 collars, 193–​98 and confratre, 194, 195 confratri et compagni, 168 gold collar, 163, 185 impresa of, 204 mantles, 193–98 members and international association, 170–​74

324

324

I ndex

Order of the Ermine (cont.) representations of the ermine, 174–​93, 159f27, 161f28, 166f29, 175f30, 183f39, 185f40, 186f41, 187f42, 188f43, 189f44, 191f46, plates V–VIII Sala dell’Ermellino, 170 Santa Maria Armellino, 165, 170 statutes of, 168–​70 Order of the Garter, 162, 164, 171, 172 Order of the Golden Fleece, 164, 171, 172 Order of the Jar, 163, 164–​65, 170, 173 Orpheus, drawing of, 155 Orsini, Giovanni del Balzo, 205 Orsini, Orso, 33, 67 Orsini,Virgino, 168, 196, 276n40 Palazzo Carafa, 31, 43 Palazzo del cavallo di bronzo, 22, 24f4, 41 Pandolfini, Battista, 99 Panormita, Antonio (Beccadelli), 47, 70 papacy, 20, 36, 49 and Naples, 20, 34 paragone, 10, 56, 114, 116–20, 133–39, 204, 213 Parenti, Marco, 59, 63, 78, 79, 80 Partini, Andrea, 82 Pasquino, 56 Paul II, Pope, 33, 35, 37, 49, 84, 85, 87, 92, 95, 103, 209 pawnbrokers, 64 pawning, 4, 5, 15, 61, 72, 95–​104, 212 as pledges, 61 Pazzi Conspiracy, 19, 32, 49, 50, 66 Pazzi War, 20, 49, 69 Pearson, Andrea, 126 ‘pensi la morte tua’, 1, 2f1, 7, 11 perfume burner, 214, 215f50 Perotto, Angelo, 34 Petrarch, 26, 140 Trionfi, 90 Petrucci, Antonello, 28, 66, 68 Petrucci, Firmano, 31 Philip the Good, 101, 126, 170, 171 Pierre of Luxembourg, 172 Pisanello, 182 medal, 182 Pisans, 64 Pius II, Pope, 19, 165

Plautus Menaechmi, 122 Pliny, 122, 124, 229 Natural History, 88, 159, 223, 227, Plate II Poggioreale. See Naples Pomian, Krzysztof, 109 Pontano, Giovanni, 66, 68, 85, 96, 168, 214 Porta, Giambattista della, 192 Portia and Brutus. See Roberti, Ercole de possessions, 14, 61 Ptolemy Geografia, 90 Pulci, Luigi, 35 Qaitbay of Egypt, Sultan, 38 Rapicano, Cola, 182, 183, Plate V Reckwitz, Andreas, 13 René of Anjou (René d’Anjou), 18, 165 Republics, 16, 32, 37, 38, 59, 60, 67, 72, 204 Resurrected Christ with an Angel,The, 149, 152f26 Ricci, Corrado, 77 ricordanze, 66, 67 Ridolfi, Niccolò di Luigi, 80 Roberti’s diptych, 113–​16, 125, 128, 143, 157 Fabula and forms of assembly, 133–​39 intertextuality, 133, 157 painting and scriptura debate, 113–​16, 128 quotation, 141 series of paintings with a similar composition, 143–​52 velvet binding, 128 word and flesh, 130–​33 Roccha, 101 Rosselli, Francesco, 90, 184 Rucellai, Bernardo, 95 Saint Catherine, 123, 124 Saint Catherine of Bologna. See Caterina Vegri Saint Francis, 124 Fioriti di San Francesco, 137, 232 representations of, 67, 114, 129, 130, 132, 137, 139 Saint Jerome, 124, 136–​37, 224 Adversus Jovinanum, 203 in Ferrara, 154–​55 Prologue to Daniel, 136, 223

325

325

I ndex

representations of, 121, 123, 128–​29, 132, 137–​8, 142, 153–​55, 157 Righteous Living, 136, 224 Saldoleto, Niccolò, 99 Salutati Company, 82 Sambon, Arturo, 53 Sambucus, Joannes, 160 Sanseverino, 176 Santoro, Fiorella Sricchia, 77 Sarnelli, Pompeo, 22, 41, 56, 58, 176 Guida dei forestieri, 24f4, 178f33 Savonarola, Girolamo, 74, 132 Predica dell’arte del bene morire, 76f8, 110 Schalla del paradiso, 153 Scolari, Giovanni, 105, 107 Scriptura. See Roberti’s dipthych sémiophore, 108–​11. See also Pomian semiotics, 14 Serragli, Agneolo, 101 Serragli, Bartolommeo, 28, 29, 45, 69, 70 Sforza, Anna, 72 Sforza, Battista, 127 Sforza, Bona, 20 Sforza, Francesco, 19, 32, 45, 103 Sforza, Galeazzo Maria, 19, 20, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 45, 48, 97, 98, 171, 172, 197, 198, 207 Sforza, Gian Galeazzo Maria, 101, 112, 190, 205 Sfora, Giangaleazzo, 20 Sforza, Ippolita, 19, 31, 34, 65, 68, 72, 83, 96–​98, 102, 105, 106, 107, 121, 167, 172, 197, 198 Sforza, Ludovico (Il Moro), 20, 46, 87, 101, 103, 122, 190–​91, 194, 195, 205–​7 membership in the Order of the Ermine, 190–​5, 279n126 Sforzas, 31, 32, 45, 46, 173, 198 Sforza, Maria, 19, 20, 31, 172 Shrader, Lorenzo, 40 Siena, 44, 49, 50, 98, 123 Simonetta, Giovanni Sforziade, 94 Siniscalco, Gran, 102 Sixtus IV, Pope, 19, 20, 35, 36, 85 Solomon, King, 75f7, 81 Soranzo,Vittore, 33 spalliere, 74, 83, 110 Spannocchi, Andrea, 256n108 Spannochi, 64

spolia, 56. See also antiquities Stallybrass, Peter, 195 status, 61 and knowledge, 11 Stefano, Pietro de, 40 Stoichita,Victor, 127 Strozzi, 29, 64, 73, 78, 80, 102 Strozzi, Filippo, 29, 30, 32, 37, 59, 65–​69, 73, 74, 77–84, 88, 89, 90, 101, 181, 214 Strozzi, Lorenzo, 65, 77, 80, 256n108 Strozzi, Niccolò di Leonardo, 65 studiolo, 4, 17, 83, 115, 117, 120–​24, 133, 134, 136, 141, 186, 188, 200, 213, 214. See also collections substitutional artistic models, 143 Summonte, Giovanni Antonio, 40, 167 Summonte, Pietro, 42 Syson, Luke, 119 Tarcagnota, Giovanni, 39, 40 Tarquinius, Sextus, 203 Tavelli, Giovanni, 154 Tavola Strozzi, 77, 165, 254n82, 254n83, 254n87, Plate I Tazza Farnese, 104f16, 208–​10, 254n82, 254n83, 254n87, Plate 1 Tomacello, Marino, 66, 251n31 Tornabuoni, Lorenzo, 208 Tramontao, Giovanni Carlo, 100 Trevisan, Ludovico, 85, 87, 92, 209 Triumphs of Federigo da Montefeltro, The, 127 Tronzo, William, 26 Trotti, Paulo Antonio, 100, 112 Trullo, Giovanni, 122, 205 Tura, Cosmè, 10, 115, 119, 120, 122, 123, 157 calligraphic line 119, 129, 147 court painter, as 10, 119, 120, 143 Saint Jerome, 142, 142f19 Turkey, 19, 33, 48, 49, 98, 99, 169 Urbino, 71, 187 Ducal Palace, 162 studiolo, 179, 186–​88, 189f45, Plate VI Ermine collar in, 192 also see da Montefeltro and Montefeltro Uzun Hasan, 209

326

326

I ndex

Valla, Lorenzo, 47 Valori, Francesco, 101 van der Velden, Hugo, 125 van der Weyden, Rogier, 67, 124 van Eyck, Jan, 124 Vasari, Giorgio, 23, 25, 28–​29, 39, 42, 83 Lives, 39, 42, 83 Vegri, Caterina, 124, 131, 132, 154 Le sette armi spirituali, 131 Venetians, 33, 114 Venice, 19, 20, 33, 34, 37, 42, 88, 102, 106, 114, 162, 209 Vespucci, Simone, 82 Villano, Giovanni, 40 Virgin and Child, 9 visual knowledge, 12 Vitale, Giuliana, 169 Vite d’Artisti, 42

Watkins, John, 26 Weiner, Annette, 5, 51 Weissman, Ronald, 56 Welch, Evelyn, 38, 61, 97 Werner, Michael, 210 Wilhelmina, Margravine, 43 Wilkins Sullivan, Ruth, 198, 201, 202, 203 Wilson, Bronwen, 195 Winckelmann, Johann, 23 Wood, Christopher, 143 Wood, Jeryldene, 131 writing, see painting and scriptura Wyss, Edith, 94 Zigliolo, Gironimo, 1, 6, 8–​12 Zigliolo, Guglielmo, 11 Zigliolo, Ziliolo, 10 Zimmerman, Bénédicte, 210

327



Plate II. Replication of antique gems, including Dionysus on a Chariot Led by Psychai and Dionysus with Ariadne. Illumination attributed to Gherardo di Giovanni di Miniato, Florence, 1479–​83. Filippo Strozzi’s copy of Pliny’s Natural History,Venice: Nicolaus Jenson, 1476. Photo: The Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, Arch. G.b.6.

328

Plate I. Unknown artist, Tavola Strozzi, c.  1465? Tempera on panel. Museo di San Martino, Naples. Photo: DIOMEDIA/​DeAgostini/​G. NIMATALLAH.

329

 

330

Plate III. Ercole de’ Roberti, The Roberti Diptych (left panel:  The Adoration of the Shepherds), about 1490, tempera on panel, 17.8 x 13.5 cm. Photo: © The National Gallery, London. NG1411.1.

331

Plate IV.  Ercole de’ Roberti, The Roberti Diptych (right panel:  The Dead Christ), about 1490, tempera on panel, 17.8 x 13.5 cm. Photo: © The National Gallery, London. NG1411.2.

332

Plate V. Illuminations by Cola Rapicano, Andrea Contrario’s Reprehensio sive objurgatio in calumniatorem divini Platonis, 1471. With portrait of King Ferrante d’Aragona wearing the pendant ermine in the historiated initial. Photo: BNF, Paris, Latin 12947, f. 3r.

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Plate VI.  Studiolo of Urbino with coffered ceiling (with ermine), Famous Men, c. 1470s, Palazzo Ducale, Urbino. Photo: DIOMEDIA/​DeAgostini/​G. NIMATALLAH.

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Plate VII.  Illuminations by Guglielmo Giraldi, Dante Alighieri’s Divina Commedia, Purgatorio, folio 97r, 1478–​82. BAV, Urb. Lat. 365. Federigo da Montefeltro’s copy with detail of the Order of the Ermine’s collar (bottom centre). Reproduced by permission of Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, with all rights reserved.

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Plate VIII.  Ferrante bestowing the Order of the Ermine on Federigo da Montefeltro, folio 2R, 1474. Illumination from the oration on the occasion of Federigo’s investiture, written by Joan Marco Cinico. Biblioteca Marciana, codice Lat XI, 53 (4009). Photo:  By concession of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo-​ Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana. Reproduction forbidden.

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